Black, White, Gold
by Shauna1
Summary: Before the coming of dwarves and men, the grandchildren of Finwe lived and loved in the Blessed Realm. Why did they leave? Featuring: Aredhel, Galadriel, Fingon and Maedhros.
1. Chapter 1

Black, White, Gold  
by Shauna  
***  
  
It would be impossible to describe the immense beauty of the scene - indeed, it was for mornings such as these, in golden valleys or by blue shores, that words were made. And if before then there were some grunts or howlings, some hoarse and desperate cries fashioned in the midst of terror and used again with equanimity in the yard or in the kitchen, then these were but the languages of animals.  
  
Almaaera ankalima - and the words were given life or life anew. Telperion, shining across the fair faces of elven princesses, who were themselves like pre-named beauty, the foreshadow of night and day. Vanya, sinya.  
  
Still, it is fitting that they were wordless, as they lay with arms like silken branches tangled together. Like trees that have been planted too close to one another and even as they grow are merging into one.  
  
One began to stroke the hair of the other, an idle, tender gesture. Her nimble fingertips made rivers in the black mass. For the other's hair was as dark as her skin was pale, as dark as a night without stars, though neither would know to speak of such a likeness. They had been born into a newly made world where the foulest cloud could not block every sky fire. So, too, did the waning of Laurelin leave a shadow of light, mingling with the stars to prevent true darkness. But could that deeply black mane be spread overhead of all of them, then the elves could again know Night.  
  
The one who stroked shivered with foreknowledge, and her hand paused.  
  
Then, with the glibness of youth and the surety of the fearless, she tossed aside the moment and continued to pet her friend. Who did not stir at the touch, but rather lay sleeping in the embrace, eyes closed and oblivious to the beauty that was Tirion on Tuna.  
  
"Aredhel, Aredhel," the first said at length. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but ere she repeated the name the second time, the sleeping elf had stirred.  
  
Opening her eyes to the starkindled night and the gentle face of her cousin leaning over her, Aredhel gave a soft sigh of contentment. Then the fire for which she was renowned, the fierce passion which belied her white, womanly form, came up to her lips and she said, "Why did you not wake me, Galadriel?"  
  
"I thought you needed sleep, and so you did," was Galadriel's calm answer.  
  
But Aredhel had long waited for this night and was not pleased. "I could have embarked today without rest and been none the less vigilant. Now tonight I will be o'er watchful in the forest, and ever walking the treetops and thinking of you."  
  
"And I of you," Galadriel said, "but I thought this best. Had I not been able to lull you to sleep with my song, I would gladly have forgone the notion that - " and here she hesitated, chosing her words carefully, "that you would be too weary to attempt the ride."  
  
"It was my decision," Aredhel said pointedly, but she seemed resigned. "Well, it shall be as much a trial to wait out the months for you as for me. And I at least will have adventure to ease my mind." As she spoke, she rose from the cover of the grasses and began to gather her posessions.  
  
Sensing that Aredhel's hurt was not assuaged, Galadriel deliberately stood in front of her. One hand she placed firmly over Aredhel's heart, and with the other she caught her cheek. "Ar-Feiniel," she said, "think not that I sought to avoid your embrace. You alone of all my cousins I desire, and though I have told you I think we shall not be matched forever, still I would now take in your body and spirit what joys I can. But the way to Formenos as you and the sons of Feanor have planned is as treacherous a path can be taken in the land of Valar, and not for the weary, and I can be patient." Then, with a teasing smile, "So will you please stop acting like a disapointed maiden?"  
  
"Only if you stop acting like my mother!" Aredhel replied.  
  
"Would your mother do this?" Galadriel asked, leaning in for a kiss. She met the soft lips and hungry tongue almost chastely, instead revealing her desire through the press of her hand upon Aredhel's breast. Small circles she made as she brushed over the fabric, then cupped her hand inside the shirt to feel the warm, full skin. But even as her body swayed in response Aredhel murmured in yearning disapointment, and drew away. Galadriel followed her gaze to the position of stars. She knew it was time to part lest someone come looking for them.  
  
"Perhaps if it is her blood runs true in me," Aredhel said softly, bitterly, answering a question that Galadriel had quite forgotten.  
  
But the topic came often up, and Galadriel was ready. "Iluvatar finds no love unworthy, and neither do I. I would gladly sing to all of the pleasure the White Lady gives me. But I have not gone through all sorts of deprivations to see you well-readied for your trip, only to have you lie awake with worry at our secret revealed."  
  
Loathe as Aredhel was to leave the hidden cove, as they walked Telperion waxed and his light filled her with anticipation. For the journey she was to make was the longest she had ever taken, through many peaceful forests and along the foothills of many towering mountaings, and perhaps they would reach far west enough to pass the Trees of Light. Last of all would they go to Formenos, the home of her friends and cousins the sons of the house of Feanor.  
  
Though there was ever uenease between their fathers Feanor and Fingolfin, the children had grown to love eachother well. If she did not burn for any of them, Aredhel counted them as dear. She took pride in their strength and skill, and charm and wit, and was well pleased when they showed their rare wisdom. Maedhros most often did so, and she liked him the best. Still, Maedhros preferred to ride with Fingon, and so Aredhel kept her closest council with Celegorm and Curufin. Curufin was clever and kept her alert with his cutting comments, thought at her they never aimed, but at Celegorm, who was in truth quite vain.  
  
"Would that you had time to share your thoughts," Galadriel said as they came to their parting place. "But your companions must be eager to get home."  
  
"And eager to leave Father's court, I'm sure. Else why would they have insisted on a single night's rest?" The thought still nagged at Aredhel, who was truly grieved that she would not have more time with her family and Galadriel. Many times she had asked this of herself, but this was the first she had spoken of it aloud.  
  
"I am sure it is naught," Galadriel replied, not returning Aredhel's wary glance. "Let us not waste our last moments on old strife. Remember to send my greetings to all you meet along the way. Remember to give my jewel gift not to Feanor, but to Nerdanel. And remember when you go to the trees of light, to gaze most closely upon Laurelin and see in truth if it is She that colors my hair."  
  
Aredhel took a strand of the golden hair and kissed it, then Galadriel's cheek, and then her lips. "I will remember!" she said fiercely, "and now goodbye!" She turned and walked quickly down her path in the road. Galadriel watched her as she went, eventually disapearing beyond the sight of elven eyes beneath the bows of trees.  
  
***  
  
When at last Aredhel was out of sight, Galadriel let forth a breath of relief. She had not been able to guess how the parting might go - and she was glad for Aredhel that it had not been too painful.  
  
"Aye, but I should have known she would be strong enough," she said aloud, and it seemed to her that the tall bushes along the pathside nodded in agreement. "I should have known that I would not keep her here."  
  
There Galadriel stopped talking and let her thoughts continue inward, for she liked not the note of regret that crept into her voice as she spoke to the folliage. Now she adressed herself. 'You have always suspected her love was less than she thought it was. Does it pain you now to have proof?'  
  
Such pain would be... unwise. For she *had* held back from Aredhel, even as her lover had guessed. They both knew that Galadriel never gave herself fully. She could not - something distant and unknowable held her back.   
  
It was not circumstance. Galadriel believed that all love was in honor of Eru, and her father had had many male lovers before he had wedded her mother Earwen. So, too, she had noticed a bond between her cousins Fingon and Maedhros, and if they acted upon it she would greet that with joy, although admittedly not the least because it would bring together two torn houses.  
  
'So' Galadriel thought, trying to focus her thoughts, 'I cannot blame Aredhel for seeking pleasure elsewhere.' For that she did, thought she had not yet learned to want any others' body. She rejoiced instead in an orgasm of spirit, in her own strength and skill and bravery. But with only Galadriel did she lie.  
  
And until she realized that, as Galadriel had, this love between them was not forever, then Galadriel was content to be faithful to her, too.  
  
But that was not the source of her unease, thought Galadriel, as she began walking towards her home. She had long ago thought out the relationship she had with her dearest female friend and cousin, and reconciled herself to its bittersweetness. It was something uglier, and just as inevitable, yet she could not give a reason or a source, let alone a name...  
  
Feanor.  
  
Well, perhaps she could name it. Feanor.  
  
For his senseless quarrel with her uncle Fingolfin and her father Finarfin, and his jealous hoarding of the Silmarils. For his sons' arrogance that made them stay such a suspiciously brief while, and yet they were outwardly curteous so that to Aredhel she could make no warning remark. Ah, Aredhel! For the way they brought out her pride. Her beauty was such, Galadriel mused, that it was best suited to modesty, or even disregard. She should not dress herself in full whites and silvers, which drew attention whither she went, but subtle greys that drew the watcher close. And her dresses should be maiden-like and fancy, hiding her form beneath, so that one must relieve her of her garments before glimpsing her taut body...  
  
Galadriel stopped her tangent, amused. She set herself to again take up the question of her forebodings, but as she did so, she did so, she saw Angrod approaching. She checked behind herself quickly to make sure that Aredhel was out of sight - and indeed she was long gone. She greeted her brother with a smile.  
  
"Greetings, kalima mine," he said as they met. "Have you been to see the riding party off?"  
  
"Nay," said Galadriel, though again as ever her mouth hesitated at the omission. She consoled herself that it was at least no lie. "Why should I? They bid their goodbyes last night."  
  
"And quite civilly, I must say. I had not expected so much from them, not with their father's withdrawl to Formenos and the bitterness that lies between."   
  
"There are doubtless other reasons for the brevity of their stay," Galadriel replied coolly.   
  
"So there may be!" said Angrod, retreating hastily from his words. "I would simply rather know them then not. Still, if Feanor is alike to Maedhros I see no reason why there is animosity between our houses."  
  
"He is and he is not," Galadriel said to his unspoken question, for her younger brothers, like Aredhel, had never seen the Spirit of Fire. Reclusive had he become in recent years, ever near his father Finwe and his precious gems, and he traveled not even to see his neices and nephews. "They are alike in beauty and skill, and in their great love of their fathers and their pride in the house. But Maedhros spreads his love around to family and friends, to the trees and the animals and the Ainur, whereas Feanor spends all his love on his jewels."   
  
"Wise you are, Galadriel, to see into the minds of kings," he said when she had finished. "I wonder, then. Feel you not this tension?"  
  
"Perhaps I do and do not speak!" Galadriel said, unable to remain mute about her worries but regretting the admission. "For my feelings are nothing upon which to base condemnation. Angrod," she continued softly, "do not be so eager to meddle in the affairs of our fathers. And do not be so quick to words lest ye waste them."  
  
"I am sorry," said Angrod contritely, and it was a while before he raised his eyes to look upon his elder sister.  
  
"Do not dwell overlong upon it. Time we have in abundance, and I would not see this fair day marred with misgivings. Aye, it seems to me that we are but sheltered birds who will flutter about at nothing, that seems to us so much because nothing is all we know."  
  
"Would you know more, sister?"  
  
"I would," said Galadriel. Then she took his arm and they continued home.  
  
***  
  
The sons of Feanor stood in the great yard of Fingolfin's house, waiting for Aredhel to return. And though they were polite there remained ever a note of dissonance in their song. Fingolfin frowned sadly at their unease, for he loved them well, or at least tried to. Yet he could not deny the unease within himself.  
  
He thought of his daughter. She had been gone for several weeks with Feanor's sons, dwelling in the fields just southeastwards. The evening before she had arrived with great joy in the homecoming, but even more in her plans. For the riding had awoken within her the desire to journey as her older brothers did. She spoke with great longing of far mountains, wild forests, trees of light. He had attempted to forestall her, but she rose up in protest.  
  
"All my life people have told me that a princess cannot match a prince. Even the Valar take a man for king! The nobles all smile kindly at my 'strange affectation', as if it were some little charm instead of my right and essence! And the commoners all look askance when I pass in my riding clothes. Would you take upon yourself the faults of your people, rather then cure them with your words and deeds? You do not deny Fingon his journeys with Maedhros! And you did not deny Turgon his wanderings with Finrod. Speak now, and I shall stay here at your demand, but I will be ever a shadow of myself, pining and unhappy, and you will have made me so!"  
  
"Be quiet, my child!" Fingolfin had thundered, though he was rather more amused then angry. Also she had given him an idea of how to best her. "Think you I do not rejoice that my daughter is valiant among princes? Think you I do not love you, every part of you, despite what others say? Alas, I was loathe to name it, but my worry is not for your journey, but your destination."  
  
Aredhel's face glowed with the praise but she stubbornly did not cease the argument. "What hold you against Formenos? I thought you held Feanor in esteem and love? And have not his sons proved ever true to me?"  
  
"They have, and I do, but ever the seeds of doubt stir within me. Do you not see that, child? Why did they not tarry here? My great love for Feanor is tempered with caution, and his doubly so for me."  
  
"Father - " Aredhel said, stricken, then stopped.  
  
Unable, as most fathers are, to see his daughter suffer, Fingolfin said quickly, "You may go." Then Aredhel looked up with joy, which was not much dampened when he added, "if Fingon goes too."  
  
His worry was much assuaged by his childrens' ready acquiecense to the plan. For all he loved his daughter's headstrong ways, they struck in him a nameless fear. It was a feeling akin to his worry for his father, a fear unreasonable in this land of beauty and safety. Yet it was there, subtle and foreboding, nonetheless. Yes, it was indeed a relief that Fingon would accompany his little White Lady on the trip.  
  
Still, Fingolfin was wise and watched his nephews as they mingled together, especially once Aredhel arrived.  
  
Ever did they follow Aredhel's tall form. Each said a word to her, and though Fingolfin was too far away to hear, they must have been clever. Her smile was often lit, or else she would pretend to strike at one of her cousins, or cry playfully. All took part in this dance, except Maedhros, the first and noblest son of the first and noblest prince of the Noldor. He was indeed so powerful that only his great grace could temper the strength of his step, and so beautiful that only his well-made clothes marked him male. Apart from Aredhel and the others he stood, with his friend Fingon, imploring him.  
  
"We will take care of your sister well," he was saying, at which Fingon gave a most unelvish snort, "but will you come also to make sure she strays not into trouble? And to meet once more my parents, so perhaps you might become better impressed? Aye, and to keep my company..."  
  
Maedhros did not expect much to come of his entreaty, for his last trip before this one had been with Fingon southwards, and in truth his cousin had not been that long home. But to his delight, Fingon nodded. "Why did you not ask me earlier, Maedhros? I would have had more time to pack my bags."  
  
"Say not that Fingolfin begrudges his gifts," Maedhros crowed when he had gotten over his surprise, "for we stay but one night and are given a great companion."  
  
"I do not know that your brothers will find it so great a gift," murmured Fingon in Maedhros' ear, but he was smiling as well. Like his father, he circumspectly watched to see if any of them had captured Aredhel's heart. Certainly Celegorm tried, in the most obvious ways, reliant on his fair face. Curufin was more hidden and clever but his intentions were clear. Only Maglor seemed not to enjoy the game - he looked as though he would rather sing to her instead. And yet despite their beauty Aredhel treated them as but friends, and glanced backwards to the forest from whence she came.  
  
"Where is Galadriel?" asked Fingolfin, coming up behind her. "She has dwelt here so much awaiting your arrival, I thought she might watch you depart?"  
  
"I have already bid goodbye to the children of Finarfin," Aredhel replied. "And so now I must do also to you. Oh, father, 'tis the hardest part of leaving!" And saying so she stepped into his arms and he caught her in a fierce hug, pressing his face into her hair. She clutched him tightly, content this once to be as a little girl.  
  
"And is leaving a brother then so easy?" came a voice from behind her. Aredhel twisted her head around and saw Turgon.  
  
"Of course not!" Said Aredhel, giving her father one last squeeze, then turning to embrace her brother. "It is so strange, Turgon. I will see you all in but a few months time, and then we may dwell many years together in our father's house. And yet I miss you so already!"  
  
"A strange but not rare affliction, my dear Ar-Feiniel," he said, and kissed her on the tip of the nose as he had often done when she was small. Their father, watching, smiled at the sign of affection, for Turgon had picked it up from him. "It is the mystery of every departure, and not even the hardiest wanderer can solve it."  
  
"Then it is best we not attempt to," said Fingon, coming up beside them and placing a hand on his sister's shoulder. Then he, too, exchanged hugs with his brother and father. "These partings are painful enough when short. Farewell!"  
  
"Farewell!" They all repeated, and then with resolve Aredhel walked away from them, feet falling lightly on the grass and Fingon at her side.  
  
***  
  
Translations:  
  
almaaera ankalima - blessed brightness  
vanya, sinya - beautiful, new  
kalima mine - bright one  
Ar-Feiniel - Aredhel's nickname, White Lady of the Noldor 


	2. Chapter 2

Black, White, Gold  
Chapter 2  
by Shauna  
  
***  
  
Before the children had informed him of their early departure, Finarfin had planned a feast for the three houses. Perhaps if he had set it for the next day, they would have delayed for the fine food that was always on his table, but he had expected a stayover of weeks and had set the dinner up accordingly.  
  
The hall was arrayed for comfort but still fair, with great banners of all colors hung across the high ceiling. The most beautiful of flowers were taken whole from the ground and placed in jeweled vases and set out along the hallway to the dining room, to be returned to the ground when the time came. Plates of white and silver sat glistening at each chair. Still more glorious was the food, made by the most accomplished chefs in Tirion, and aided by Earwen. The wife of Finarfin was not chiefly a cook, but she had great skill in the making of dishes.   
  
Few were willing to let such festival go to waste, so Fingolfin and Turgon, and Turgon's wife Elenwe, and their young daughter Idril came on the appointed night and guested with them.  
  
Though their families lived close together, Galadriel had seen Idril but once or twice, for she was still a child by any creature's reckoning. Small and trembling she stood behind her father's legs, wondering at the house of Finarfin. But Galadriel went to her knees, and took her hand, and stroked the girl's golden hair, and said, "It is easy to see that we are both of the line of Indis, is it not?"  
  
She had meant her words to be lighthearted, and indeed Idril smiled and came out from her hiding place, and was no longer shy. But Fingolfin and Finarfin looked each at the other, with sadness in their eyes. How long had it been since the whole family gathered in feast? Never - never had they all assembled, all the High Noldor, for Feanor would not see his stepmother Indis acknowledged, and ate not at the same table with her, though they lived in Formenos together with Finwe.  
  
Sensing the fell mood that had befallen, the mothers of the houses bestirred themselves to set the table out. Once they began to eat all that was ill slipped away. Idril was delightful in her youth, and Turgon doted upon her, but secretly Finarfin thought his own daughter was no less charming for her greater years. It is difficult to say what opinion Fingolfin was of, perhaps because his mind still dwelt with Aredhel as she rode across the plains.  
  
And perhaps all their thoughts turned to the journey and to its destination, for the topic came ever up.  
  
"And where did they wish to go?" Earwen asked when the conversation paused, for she hadn't had the chance to sit and talk with her niece or nephews.  
  
"All about the West and the North, to see it swiftly but in full, and at the end, to Formenos," Finarfin nearly succeeded in keeping the tone of his voice smooth.  
  
"Formenos," Fingolfin said, "where ever still our brother speaks against the Valar. It is as shadowed a land as can be in this lighted realm, and I would not have Aredhel go there alone."  
  
"But Fingon went with her," Earwen said, for this she had been able to gather.  
  
"So he did - as I bid him to. But still Feanor's words bode ill with me!"  
  
"Feel you not any guilt, though, brother?" Finarfin asked.  
  
"Guilt?" asked Fingolfin. "Forgiveness, out of my love for him, yes. But guilt?"  
  
"Our mother does not walk the halls of Mandos. Perhaps we might have been kinder to him in his grief. Who knows how our early words shaped his opinion of us? Who knows what jealousy was born of our happy family of four, as he watched while mother held us on her lap, knowing that his own had gone to the halls of Mandos before he could even know her?"  
  
Fingolfin sat silently, pondering this.  
  
"And besides," Galadriel said, then stopped, embarassed. But her father looked at her gently so she continued on, "You have had eachother. I don't know what it would be like to grow up an only child. None of us does, except Idril."  
  
"And she not for long," Turgon rumbled, shooting a quick, flirtatious look at his wife. Elenwe blushed.  
  
"You speak truly, Galadriel," Fingolfin said. "As do you, my brother. I will spend some time in deeper thought among the matter. But for now, will you tell me, Finarfin, how goes the breeding of your great horses?"  
  
They talked on that and on other matters for many hours. At last Elenwe sat with Idril sleeping upon her lap, and all the elders felt as tired as she. Bidding the others goodnight, Galadriel rose and went to her rooms. Yawning, she did not tarry to admire the banners and paintings, nor to stop and speak with her friends among the servants. Perhaps it was the fine elven wine but never had her bed seemed so soft and inviting.   
  
As she succumbed completely to sleep, she had only time and wits to note that she had never felt so drawn to dream before.  
  
***  
  
By the time they dismounted their horses for the first night, Tirion had grown noticeably smaller in the distance. Fingon saw that his sister refused to turn her head to it. Ever stubborn, she was trying to make up for what she thought was a show of weakness at their departure. But Fingon felt no such compulsion.  
  
So far had they ridden today, spurred onwards by the thought of a new journey and good company, and yet still he could see the fair city rising behind. Truly majestic was his proud home, the light from the watchtower shining out over the water, and Fingon imagined it white and sparkling where it hit the bluegreen waves.  
  
Maedhros came up behind him, placing a hand on the small of his back. He shivered at the touch.  
  
"It is colder then one would think, though this place is farther from the water," Fingon said at length, by way of explanation.   
  
"Aye, and it will be even colder tonight," said Maedhros softly. "Shall we take a watch, together, cousin?"  
  
"Of course," Fingon replied, "though as ever I am amused that we set watches at all. In the land of the Valar, nothing hunts us."  
  
Maedhros said only, "This is how I was taught."  
  
Fingon gave a sharp glance that was not lost on his companion. They had known eachother so long and so well, it was startling for him to find a point of disagreement. Their love of wandering and riding, their positions as eldest in their households, their fondness for eachother... these were what he preferred to dwell upon, not the strange differences that seemed ever arising. How could Maedhros not feel secure in this place of plenty?  
  
They stood in silence, watching the tower as though it might suddenly sprint across the horizon, and they would not want to miss that. After a while, Maedhros realized his hand was still upon Fingon's back, and he removed it, but other than that they did not stir.  
  
Seeing them, Celegorm said to Aredhel, "Our brothers seem to have the weight of the world on their shoulders, do they not?"  
  
"They do indeed," she said, and at the sound of her voice Curufin turned towards them.  
  
"I, for one, am glad the burden is theirs," Celegorm continued. "I'd rather a wood then a palace. What is there in kingship so desirable? I might turn it down if offered."  
  
"Not I," interjected Curufin, for he knew what Aredhel felt on the matter, although in truth it was also more than posture. "Perhaps all you see is the triviality, but there is glory in it! Aye, and where there is suffering there are also the fruits of pain."  
  
Well aware that they were staring, allthough the objects of their attention did not seem to notice, Aredhel cast her eyes away. "Fingon has oft said to me that he wished he was the youngest. Has Maedhros ever said like to you?"  
  
"No," replied Curufin, but Celegorm murmured,  
  
"Maybe not, but I have seen it in his eyes and bearing. Is that so ignoble? Father demands so much that one can not help but resent it at times."  
  
"I would not," said Curufin, and his eyes glittered.  
  
Aredhel liked not where the conversation had turned to, nor would she see any fighting break out among the brothers. So she asked Maglor for a song, and he was pleased to oblige, and hearing the sweet sounds drifting from the camp Fingon and Maedhros returned to it.   
  
The next few days they spent on the plains, marking the distance only by the diminishing of the watchtower of Tirion. Most often they talked and sang as they went, but the brothers were quick to compete. Once Aredhel grew frustrated with their silly, boastful talk and petty games and cried, "Are all the sons of Feanor so much quicker to argue then they are upon their horses?"  
  
And with a shout of laughter Aredhel rode off, Curufin and Celegorm fast to follow her, and the twins behind. Caranthir speeded his horse slightly but did not participate. Maglor seemed to be paying more attention to the animals that hid themselves in the grasses.  
  
Fingon brought his horse beside Maedhros' and they watched as the forms grew smaller against the horizon.  
  
"My sister will of course win, you know," Fingon said. "The children of Fingolfin are by far the ablest riders."  
  
"Is that a challenge, cousin?"  
  
"It is."  
  
Maedhros threw him a slow, sideways smile. "And what will I get if I win?"  
  
Fingon smiled back at him. "You won't." He spurred his horse even as Maedhros' began his indignant reply.  
  
As they sped onward and the wind tore at Fingon's face, he gave a shout of exhiliration. Turning and meeting Maedhros eyes, he saw his feelings mirrored. Fingon stole a look at his cousin's good form - he was stradled masterfully on his great black horse, his red hair straight behind him like whipped fire. Then he took his gaze away, pressed his knees together and urged his mount on. Soon he knew nothing of his companion or the fields beside them, only the pounding of the horses.   
  
Maedhros was close but still behind Fingon as he pulled up, Aredhel's ringing calls telling him that he had won. "And who... claimed your race, sister?" Fingon asked as his pulse slowed and his body calmed.  
  
"I did,"she said, and that was quite obvious from the scowls on the boys' faces, appeased only by the fact of their dignified elder brother having joined the game.  
  
"It really... wasn't... fair," Maedhros said, breathing hard, "my brothers were probably... fighting eachother for your attention... the whole way."  
  
"And what's your excuse?" Aredhel shot back, although she knew he meant no insult.  
  
Fingon smirked. "He doesn't have one." Maedhros looked as though he wanted to object but couldn't think of anything to say.  
  
"We'll have to wait for Maglor," Aredhel said with a fond smile. They could just make him out in the distance.  
  
They decided to make camp where they were, and by the time Maglor arrived the fire had been started and the foot put on. He was humming a tune that he had made as he rode along, and at the sound the others forgave him instantly for his delay.  
  
It was a merry dinner they had, filled with lighthearted teasing and sweet song, and colored by their shared anticipation. For by the end of the next day they should near the greatest beauty of the Blessed Realm, the Trees of Light.  
  
***  
  
Galadriel awoke to her mother Earwen's troubled gaze. "Mother?" she asked, sitting up.  
  
"Galadriel!" the woman exclaimed, and reached over to embrace her. "Know you not how long you have been sleeping?"  
  
"Nay."  
  
"For many days. We asked the Valar for help, and they said that you were in no danger, that indeed great strength would come to you from your long rest, but still I could not help fearing..."  
  
"Oh, mother, I'm so sorry," she murmured, and Earwen reached out and held her. They sat a while on the bed and the elder woman's worries were assuaged. But then Galadriel sat up. She gently disentangled herself, shifted away. She held herself upright as though she would not be touched and had a distant look in her eyes, and she said simply, "I dreamed."  
  
"Hush," her mother whispered, a new worry settling in her stomach. For her daughter looked aged somehow, as like a true woman. "Hush, Galadriel," she repeated, though she saw now how incongruous the words of comfort were. "I must go find your father."  
  
*** 


	3. Chapter 3

***  
Chapter Three  
***  
  
Fingolfin paced the stone paths of his garden, deep in thought. Had he neglected the fruits and flowers and left others to learn the way, he might have found it difficult to trod, but by long work he knew his steps and so devoted his whole mind to his troubles, unconciously avoiding the tender flower peeking out into the walkway or the overleaning branch.  
  
His mind was given to many worries, for his young daughter riding far away and for his niece's death-like sleep. Although in truth he knew not what death was like - even the wisest had little experience in that regard. He'd heard tale of a few of the common elves dying of grief, and of course there was his father's first wife Miriel. In any case, last he had seen her Galadriel lay unmoving amidst heaping blankets and pillows, her skin cool to the touch and her hair limp and its glow dim.  
  
He trusted the Ainur, however, and Este the healer had travelled all the way from Lorellin on her fastest steed to tend the Noldorin princess. She had said, "This is not my province, no good will it do to place a healing sleep upon her. She sleeps already. But as it is, I sense she does not rest. She dreams. If I can persuade my husband to leave his gardens, he will come to you. Yet he may not - for I will tell him my true diagnosis, and that is that she will wake in time."  
  
And then she rode away back to her lake-isle with a speed Fingolfin's travelling kin could only envy. No other Valar had visited Galadriel's bedside, but several Maiar came, to tend her, and give advice. Ilmare, Varda's handmaid, brought words and tokens of hope, and Olorin the wise spoke long with them, telling of how Nienna did not weep in pity for Galadriel, but for those who's hearts were darkened while she slept. Curunir had visited, too, although more to study the strange illness then to heal it. Amarie and no lesser of the Vanyar came and offered her skill in tending and healing. Often Fingolfin had seen her comforting Finrod, who sat hunched by his sister's side.  
  
And his wife, Anaire, had returned from visiting friends elsewhere. They waited, now, for Lorien to come, or Galadriel to wake, and ever oftener Fingolfin found himself giving orders to be left alone in his garden, deep in thought...  
  
Finarfin's words the night of the banquet had stayed with him, haunting him. Did he owe Feanor some guilt? He had made every attempt to love him, to welcome him, to treat him as a full brother. Should he have tried harder?  
  
Memories, faint but unyielding, of family celebrations. Dancing down the halls to the feasting rooms, between Finwe and Indis. And Finarfin, too, old enough to talk but still young enough to be carried in his mother's arms. He was laughing, pulling lightly on his mother's clothes to get her to turn this way and that, and she responded with surprised delight, though she herself had set up the decorations. Fingolfin skipped to keep up with his parent's longer strides, reached in to pinch Finarfin's cheek, and nearly missed Feanor's entrance.  
  
He was full-grown and newly married to Nerdanel, with sons of his own perhaps soon to come, but the childish jealousy and anger were barely contained when he looked at Indis and Finarfin.  
  
Eyes ablaze, he had said, "Often you told me my mother did not choose to celebrate this feast. Why change we our ways now?"  
  
"It is for the baby," Indis said gently, but Feanor acted as though she had never spoken.  
  
"You dishonor her," he told his father, and Finwe flinched.  
  
"I did not know that you would return for this day," he said. "I only thought to give the children some joy, and it is not so important a holiday - "  
  
"It is a Vanyar holiday! Miriel died to give you a son, and now you disregard her pride - your pride - to please the little Vanyar babies?"  
  
"They are just children," Finwe said, "and do not understand why they should not feast."  
  
"Did I understand why I alone of elves did not know the comfort of a mother? If you have no respect for Miriel, at least have respect for me!"  
  
Finwe gave no response. He had none to offer, but neither would he hang his head in guilt or shame. Evenly he gazed at his son.  
  
"All things change," Indis answered quietly, with pity, when she saw her husband would not speak.  
  
Bitterly Feanor turned and stared at her. "But not for the better," he said. Then he spun on his heel and strode away from them, and and after a moment they could hear the sound of a horse speeding away, back to the wilder lands that would eventually would contain Formenos. They would not see him again for a long time.  
  
'Then,' Fingolfin thought, 'while I learned to forget the strife within our household, did it grow within him?"  
  
The idea saddened him in innumerable ways.  
  
"Fingolfin, Fingolfin, let me come in!" came a chant from behind the nearest patch of flowers, and then an enormously pleased giggle. A head of fiery golden hair bobbed up, followed by a much tinier body, and before Fingolfin could blink the small form of his only grand-daughter was attatched to his leg.  
  
"Idril!" he exclaimed, surprised but not unwelcoming. With one determined effort he thrust his worries from his mind. "Not by the freckles on my skinny skin skin." Idril laughed. "How did you find yourself here?"  
  
"Anaire brought me," she said, though her voice was muffled as she spoke into the fabric of his leggings.  
  
"Well, we'll just have to go find her, then, won't we?" he replied, sighing in mock exasperation. He began to walk down the path he believed Idril had come by, and Idril clutched at his leg and shrieked. He stopped, afraid. "Are you okay, Idril?"  
  
She stared up at him. "Of course I am."  
  
Fingolfin started walking again, and soon enough Idril commenced her happy screams. Apparently Anaire was drawn by them, but knew their nature, for she soon joined them with a smile on her face.  
  
"Thank you for ignoring my request," Fingolfin said to her, but he couldn't quite manage sarcasm. He was glad to have been interrupted - and his wife could tell.  
  
"You're welcome," she replied, kissing his cheek.  
  
They walked then a while, Idril skipping up front, Anaire with her hand on his waist. He did not think, only felt, her touch and her reassurance. All of a sudden a great ringing celebration filled the air.  
  
"What is that bell, grandfather?" Idril asked, dancing towards where the sound came.  
  
He and Anaire cocked their heads, listening. A smile broke out over Fingolfin's face. "It tells us that Galadriel has woken up at last. Come! Let us go join her."  
  
***  
  
The young Noldor rode quickly for the same reasons that they had shortened the stop at Tirion, though what exactly those reasons were not even the eldest sons of Feanor knew. Nevertheless on their steeds they passed o'er the land at so swift a pace that two could not carry on conversation for long, and any more would fail before they started. They either sang out loudly and sweetly or remained silent and in thought. Or sometimes they studied eachother through half-closed eyes.  
  
They reached the Trees of Light near the end of the day, when Telperion was quite dim and Laurelin waned. .Still, they shone with a light near unbearable; the elves could not look away. They came upon them eagerly, yet their steps slowed as they neared. At last they stopped before them, in quiet awe.   
  
Maglor stood closest to the trees, body drawn taught and his mouth hanging slightly open. He was searching within himself for a song befitting the glory, but finding none, no melody so perfect, he was silent. And in that silence, to his delight, he thought he could hear the pure, clear song of the trees.  
  
Aredhel, to the side and behind him, felt overwhelmed and nearly bowed before the glowing branches. And yet, in her humility she felt strong, and safe, and beautiful.   
  
Maedhros with surprise felt Fingon's hand slip into his, and thought he should pull away, but it felt right. For could anything be but right beneath the majesty of these trees? He gripped his cousin's hand, his fingers running in unconcious halfcircles over Fingon's warm skin.  
  
None of them knew how long they had stared, but Curufin was the first to stand down, and he noticed that their horses had wandered away. He went off to find them, and the twins and Caranthir were stirred by his leaving and followed him. Celegorm, too, was alerted, but judged they did not need anymore help. He was content to stay here and continue to watch the Laurelin fade.  
  
After a while, he said as an aside, "Laurelin indeed has colored Galadriel's hair."  
  
Aredhel gasped noiselessly and turned her face from him. How could she have forgotten? Even now, when the gold tree bathed her in warmth she had not remembered the embrace of her cousin. She had not recalled her laughing, parting words. In these last few days she had barely thought of her at all. The guilt threatened to consume her, along with a sudden ache of longing.  
  
"Ar-Fieniel?" Celegorm asked, and she breathed deeply and looked towards him. "What troubles you?"  
  
"Nothing," she replied at first, and then seeing that would not do, she forced down her pride and said, "perhaps a bit of jealousy. What maiden would not wish to be compared to a tree of light?"  
  
"But you are," said Celegorm at once, "like Telperion, silver and white."  
  
Aredhel made herself grin. "And now that I have caught me some compliments, I am unhappy no more."  
  
Maglor smiled, and Celegorm, and with a measure of regret the three turned to where the others, having regained the hroses, were making camp. A few minutes later Fingon and Maedhros joined them.  
  
It was a quiet meal, as Maglor did not sing between bites but rather watched the trees, and the twins were off in their own little world. Maedhros and Fingon shared casually intense glances, but neither yet spoke. Aredhel would have wondered at that if she had not been absorbed in deep musings of her own.  
  
When at last she had finished chasing down the emotions that swirled through her, she came to the uncertain conclusion that she would gain nothing by imposing punishment upon herself. She did not understand the way she fluttered between disregard and passion. But Galadriel seemed always to know her, and to love her, no matter how wrongly Aredhel thought she had acted. Galadriel could forgive her for a few days' lapse. She would know her heart.  
  
Reassured by her reasoning, Aredhel turned towards the fire. She stared deep into the flames, but did not see them. Instead she pictured Galadriel's fair face, the curves of her cheeks and lashes and sensuous lips. She was determined to make up for lost time.  
  
Meanwhile, Fingon caught another look from Maedhros. He laughed to himself. 'Like children we are,' he thought, 'with our furtive glances.' Then, when next he felt Maedhros' eyes upon him, he looked up and met them. For a moment they simply watched eachother, unheeding of anyone or anything else, seeking confirmation - then abruptly Maedhros turned away, a look of anger and confusion on his face.   
  
"Maedhros?" Fingon asked, sure that everyone could hear his heavy breathing but keeping his voice low nonetheless "Have I done wrong? Speak to me."  
  
"Why?" Maedhros asked, and would not look at him. "There is nothing to say."  
  
"Maedhros - "  
  
But he rose and left abruptly, leaving Fingon to watch his retreating back with consternation. Aredhel, raising her eyes from the fire, wondered what she had missed.  
  
***  
  
Finrod walked along the road, letting his fingers trail on the stone wall raised high and proud along his right. He ran his thumb through the indentations, over the ridges, his mind very far away. A voice, sweet and familiar, brought him back.  
  
"It is not good for you to worry so."  
  
Finrod looked up at Amarie as she stepped onto the path. "That is what older brothers are for. I cannot help but- I just - I have never seen her unwell. I have never seen any elf in sickness, or any wound beyond the accidental scratches of rough play. Why is she so pale? Why doesn't she answer? There is something wrong with her, else why would a Vala have come to see her?"  
  
"That same Vala told us she would wake, and be stronger then ever," Amarie reminded him, patiently. "And I was there with you when Olorin relayed Nienna's words. She sees more then Este, for she is sister to Mandos, who knows all things. Why would she have sent us false hope if she knew her brother would call Galadriel to his halls?"  
  
"You speak wisely, Amarie," he said, his tongue lingering on her name. "But it is so hard not to think about it."  
  
"Well," she said softly, "let me try to take your mind off of things."  
  
"How?"  
  
She stepped closer to him, so he could no longer see past her to the family dwelling place, where his sister slept. With a slender hand she pushed her yellow-gold hair back from her face, letting him see her eyes wide and intent. "Tell me about Aule's caves."  
  
"But - " Finrod looked uncomfortable at her nearness. "How did you know I have seen them?"  
  
Once she saw that he had accepted the change of topic, she let her solemnity slide. Now her eyes sparkled. "Come now, Finrod prince. It cannot remain a secret when an elf akin to Feanor shows talent in the making of jewels."  
  
At the words 'akin to Feanor' his expression fell, and Amarie caught her breath. Finrod looked about to speak in protest, but then changed his mind. He paused for a moment, then began to talk.  
  
"The caves are so very deep, with darkness unimaginable. If you stood in the lowest level of a windowless house at the very end of the day, and closed your eyes very tight, still more treelight would reach you than in the depths of Aule's caves. But it is not a thing to be frightened of - at least, not when Aule is there. Then the hardness of the walls lends to you its strength, and the faint trickle of cavewater far above sustains you."  
  
As he spoke, he moved nearer to Amarie, until they were almost touching. He looked into her eyes, searchingly, watching the words reflect upon her face. She held herself still.  
  
"Amarie," he whispered. When he said her name, a chorus of triumphant bells rang out around them. He looked up in surprise, uncomprehending.  
  
"Finrod. Aren't those the bells that were stilled, until Galadriel's awakening?"  
  
"It is!" Finrod cried. He gathered Amarie into his arms and spun her around, until he stopped with his face buried in her hair. "Thank Varda, thank Varda," he was whispering. Then he seemed to catch himself. "Oh, Amarie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that."  
  
Amarie waved off the apology. "Finrod, I - "  
  
"No, no, I truly am sorry. But - come on, we've got to go see Galadriel," he took her hand and began to run towards the house, and Amarie ran with him.   
  
***  
  
The pace towards Formenos was slower once they turned eastward from the trees of light. Had they chosen to speed there as soon as possible, they could have done so quicker then it had taken to get from Tirion to the Trees, though the distance was more then twice as long, for their horses were renewed by the sight of the source of Light. But the trees had filled them with contentment as well as strength. At least, it had done so to some of the travellers.  
  
"I should like to learn to make gems as you do," Aredhel said to Curufin, pulling along side him as they rode slower then usual. "Of course you cannot show me now, but tell me at least, how does it feel to hold a new-made jewel in your hands?"  
  
"It is a contradictory feeling, my lady. Like the gem itself - for though it is enchanting, it is not fragile as most pretty things are. It is both beautiful and strong - rather like you, my lady," he said softly, and Aredhel struggled not to blush. Smiling, Curufin continued, "And so when you look upon it you feel great pride in the making of it, but also humbled by it. These are the great gems, mind you. Many a simple trinket is made that inspires nothing but the pleasant glow of giving it away."  
  
"And how do you make these gems?"  
  
"Oh, there are many different ways. If you'll pardon me, I can't reveal the secret of the higher gems. My father permits no women - not even my mother Nerdanel, to know. A pity, that. Both you and she would do well at it. But I may explain the basics. First you find pure, flawless shells, they must be absolutely clear. Then you - you bathe them in color. So deep that the color is caught, contained, within the shell."  
  
"How do you get the different colors?"  
  
"Most often from flowers, but there is ever an alternative. You can color green from the leaves of plants, or you can use the deep sea water and tinge it with light. You can use a rose, or thick flames, or blood. Nay," he said, seeing her startled expression. "That has never been done. But it is a possibility. There are a great many possibilities inherent in the making of jewels, so that I never tire of making them, but none when fulfilled would be as great as the Silmarils."  
  
Another day while camp was being made she convinced Celegorm to teach her how to hunt, for he was great among the hunters of Valinor. He had many times ridden with Orome, he who had led the elves from Cuivienen. She knew Celegorm would delight in teaching her, for he had succeeded admirably with Amrod and Amras, who watched them now.  
  
"First," said Celegorm, "one must become accurate. It is useless to have strength or speed if you never hit your mark." He motioned to Amrod, who set up a target. "Now, let me see how you draw your bow."  
  
Aredhel attempted to pull it back, but failed utterly. "I can't. It barely moves."  
  
"Let me see that," Celegorm said, taking the ornate weapon. "This was never meant to be used. It is for decoration."  
  
"Well, what am I to do then?" Aredhel sighed in frustration. "It's not like I can use your great bow."  
  
"Not now. But if you practice pulling it back, and if you lift the heaviest bags often, perhaps you will gain the strength needed for the twins' smaller ones. Although it would be far easier just to wait, and get one once we reach Formenos. Many of the common women have them there."  
  
"The women hunt?" Aredhel asked in surprise, thinking of the maidens she had known who would begrudge her even her horse races were she not a princess, and would become quite indignant if she learned to use a weapon. They would rather she was like Galadriel, wise but sedate.  
  
"It is quite different then in the great cities of Eldamar," Celegorm reminded her. "There is not so large a respect for tradition here. Perhaps it is because there is no established royalty. Father has taken to going there, of late, but in name our home is in Tirion. Still, do not take my word for it, I would not know of such things."  
  
Aredhel nodded, but then she gave a groan of frustration which rather startled Celegorm. Despite her actions and words he still looked upon his cousin as at heart a maiden. That - sound - could have come from one of his brothers. "I'd like to start now," Aredhel explained, "but it seems I cannot."  
  
"My lady," spoke up Amras, "if you like we can refashion my bow. Cut it down to your size, and restring it."  
  
"No, Amras, I couldn't ask that," Aredhel declared. "I may be headstrong, but I am not selfish. And though neither am I a hunter, I know what it means to lose your bow."  
  
"Aye, but I meant to get myself a new one when we reached Formenos," he replied smoothly, "and until then I can use my brother's."  
  
Aredhel hesitated only a moment before her eyes lit up. "Thank you! I am in your debt."  
  
"I know," said Amras coyly, and for once the somber expression of his face was broken by a grin. He slung his bow off his shoulder, and handed it to her, and she leaned over and gave him a cousinly kiss. Then she walked away with Celegorm, as he told her how to refit a bow.  
  
"Well done," Amrod whispered teasingly. "And did you ask if you could use mine?" He recieved an elbow for his complaint. But it was only pretense, for despite the cousins' games, only Curufin and Celegorm were truly vying for Aredhel's attentions. The others were preoccupied with other thoughts and other people, or merely did not feel the call of mating, or like the twins were too young. The twins soon lapsed back into their wordless companionship.  
  
By the next day the work was completed, and once again Celegorm took Aredhel and the twins aside. "Now, let us try again."  
  
"'Tis still quite difficult," Aredhel said through gritted teeth as she attempted to pull it back to his full length. It was easy enough to get it halfway there, but soon after she met with resistance and the string began to cut into her fingers.  
  
"My lady, have you ever tried to do this before?" Celegorm asked.  
  
"Well... no."  
  
"As you practice it will become easier. And even if we could make a lighter bow, it would still befit you to do some exercises. You have not been given great strength as we males have, and you must build it if you want your prey to do anything besides lick the wound where your arrow strikes." He continued to teach her, while the others watched, in between attending to their chores.  
  
"Much does my sister learn on this trip," Fingon said where he sat near Maedhros by the fire. His voice dipped low. "But not as I have come to know..."  
  
"What mean you, cousin?" Maedhros asked, too loudly, deliberately not turning to face him. He leaned back on his hands, his red hair flowing down his back, his face expressionless. Fingon did not answer, did not explain, and Maedhros did not ask him to.  
  
Fingon turned back to watch the shooting lesson, bewildered. The empty half-smile on his friend's face was nothing like the looks he had been giving him before Fingon took his hand by the Trees. He thought then that they might come to a new understanding, but now it seemed Maedhros had grown distant, and as they approached Formenos the stolen glances had become rare.  
  
Perhaps he had incorrectly guessed the hidden meaning of his cousin's banter. Had he ruined it? Did Maedhros not *want* this? Then why had he returned the grip, caressing his hand? If it meant nothing to him, why was he now so cold?  
  
At last he decided to be direct. "Have I offended you?" he asked.  
  
Maedhros caught his breath. Then, flippantly, "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Perhaps," said Fingon, beginning to become annoyed, "because that is the only reason for the way you are acting, unless you have suddenly become a maiden!"  
  
Maedhros did turn to look at him now, mouth agape. "What?"  
  
Fingon blushed. He had not meant his frusration to come so clearly across. "I'm sorry. What I meant was... was... you seem changed. Unapproachable. I miss your conversation... among other things."  
  
Fingon could not be mistaking the look Maedhros shot him, full of desire and regret. "My mind is taken up with thoughts of my father."  
  
"What?" Now it was Fingon's turn to be surprised.  
  
"Oh, yes. I thought you would realize," his voice took on a patronizing tone. "The eldest son must follow his father's will in all things. He must teach his siblings, bring honor to the household, produce an heir..."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You do?" Fingon could not tell whether Maedhros was relieved or disapointed.  
  
"Yes. I should have known that's what it would be. For you."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"Nothing," Fingon replied slowly, deliberately. "I thought you would realize." Maedhros scowled at having his words flung back at him.  
  
"You are not a King yourself, Maedhros. You are but the eldest son of the eldest son of the King. A second-hand prince." Maedhros looked angry at that, and moved to speak, but Fingon placed a finger upon his mouth. Maedhros' lips parted slightly beneath the soft touch, but he kept himself still as his cousin continued. "Your first son will not be needed unless all three of you die. And I vow that will not happen so long as I live."  
  
"You should not make vows, Fingon. They are dangerous."  
  
"And sometimes, they are worth it," he replied. Summoning his courage, he leaned over and pressed his lips to his cousin's. For the briefest of possible moments, no longer then the flickering of a candle or the quick sigh of restless wind, they were together, hroa and fea, body and spirit. Then Maedhros pulled away again.  
  
"Do not seek out my weaknesses, cousin. If you speak truly, then time we have in abundance. Let me be for now."  
  
Then he rose without looking back, as though doing so would shatter his will and halt his steps. Fingon could not watch him for long, and instead placed his head in his hands, feeling lost and the taste of Maedhros still sweet and bitter upon his mouth.  
  
***  
  
Soon after Earwen had left, Galadriel heard the loud ringing of bells. The vibrations from each stroke rebounded in what could be a cacophony of confusion in the hands of an inexperienced bellringer. Instead the rings and their echoes wove around eachother in a pattern as intricate as a flute's.  
  
Before long she heard fast footsteps in the hallway, and to her delight Orodreth, Aegnor and Angrod burst through the door and surrounded her bed. Eagerly Angrod reached to embrace her, while the others impatiently waited. Then Aegnor took her into his arms and for a moment lay his head upon her soft hair before pulling away. Last Orodreth moved to give her a gentle hug, but as they touched she gasped.  
  
//Caves, glittering with the gifts of Aule. But distant, and filled with the harsh cold of long-running water, and in that water flowed blood.//  
  
"What is it, sister?" Orodreth asked with great concern.  
  
Galadriel did not speak for a moment, consumed in an attempt to recall the vision which had shocked her so. But now it was gone, leaving but a memory of fear. She could almost sense where it had gone, to the east upon the wind, to the land she had travelled while dreaming. After a moment, she murmured, "I am merely tired, is all."  
  
Before he could respond, a flurry of elves arrived. First Finrod and Amarie ran breathless through, followed by Elenwe and Turgon. "We were on our way to visit you," Turgon explained. Galadriel was about to respond when the people at the door gave way.  
  
Finarfin stopped at the threshold, for a moment overwhelmed by the many joy-filled faces. Then he brushed past them all to his only daughter, who held out her hands to greet him. He took them, gently, searching her face and body for some signs of permanent weakness, but saw only the vestiges of weariness of a child just woken from sleep. He pulled her to him, and whispered to her, "I am glad to see you back."  
  
After a moment, Earwen took a place on the bed next to her husband. The others curteously left the room to wait, though for a certainty they did not go far. Finrod was the last to leave. Having not yet greeted his sister, he looked to do so eagerly, but Amarie drew him out.   
  
"Galadriel," Finarfin said softly, his sweet voice easing almost into song as it had when she was younger. "Are you truly feeling well?"  
  
"I am, father," Galadriel replied. "Had I not been assured otherwise, I would say I had but slept a night and day away. Only, I - "  
  
"What is it?" Finarfin pressed, sensing her hesitation.  
  
"When my brothers first greeted me, I felt this - this thing come over me."  
  
"Dizziness?" Earwen asked, anxious.  
  
"No. It was - I can not even remember it any more. But it frightened me."  
  
Finarfin drew his daughter to his chest, and he held her there for a while, while Earwen stoked her hair and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. Despite Galadriel's words she neither shook nor trembled, and needed not the contact as a source of comfort. Yet she saw that her parents derived great happiness from the embrace, and so she remained in it. It was pleasant enough, and offered a moment of silence to recollect herself.  
  
That silence was broken by a sudden outbreak of muted voices. They turned in time to see Fingolfin walk calmly through the door.   
  
"Fingolfin!" Finarfin said with a wide smile as he released his daughter. "I am glad you are here to join in our celebration."  
  
"So am I," Fingolfin replied, "and celebrate we must. After all, dear girl," he adressed his niece, "there are not so many Noldorin princesses that we can afford to have one away slumbering for always. It is an enormous relief to me to see you waking."  
  
"I am pleased that you are, Uncle," Galadriel replied.  
  
"And yet, I did not come for simply celebration. I am afraid I am very curious as to what you remember, Galadriel. What did you dream?"  
  
"I was walking... through forests, deep shadowed forests. The animals were all hidden, but their songs were sweet and like nothing I've ever heard. Dark, and rich. Towering branches, there were, so high it seemed deceptively empty."  
  
"That was all?" Fingolfin asked gently.  
  
"No, there was so much more that I can't remember. And what I tell you - it might seem like nothing when I say it. But each step I took brought me to something new. I spent long hours gathering these strange berries, so small and blue-red they were, and with a sharp taste..."  
  
Fingolfin did not manage to mask his disapointment. He had been intrigued by the words of Este, and of Nienna relayed through Olorin. While from the bright cheeks and calm voice of Galadriel this long sleep was not a curse, it neither seemed a blessing. It was, indeed, a mystery. Ah, but there would be time later for ruminations and discussions. For now, he would leave them in peace.  
  
Finarfin gave Galadriel a more heartfelt smile, but also stood to go. "I will let your mother tend you, Galadriel. No doubt she knows how to better than I. Fingolfin, may I speak with you?"  
  
"Aye, you may."  
  
After giving Galadriel a kiss one last kiss on the forehead, Finarfin exited with his brother.  
  
"You knew more than you told your father," Earwen said quietly.  
  
Watching her mother, Galadriel knew it was useless to lie. But still she wished to keep secret the indescribable lightness in her heart, and the sudden longing. She only answered, "Yes."  
  
"Galadriel, please tell me." Earwen was nearly begging, but Galadriel's eyes had gone distant again.  
  
She was remembering, that there was someone else in her dream, guiding her and following her. An elf who was not seen or named but ever near her, singing to her through the whispering of trees, calling her to the strange place, protecting her and being protected by her.  
  
Like the vision of fear and water she recieved when she touched her brother's arm, with the passage of time the memory grew ever fainter. But this vision she treasured, this memory of love and silver.  
  
*** 


	4. Chapter 4

Black, White, Gold  
by Shauna (wind3213@hotmail.com)  
  
***  
  
Chapter Four  
  
***  
  
Her eyes saw everything, from the great movements of the mountains on the back of Aule, to the swift stirrings of air by the breath of Manwe, to the slow, deep, unstoppable currents that was Ulmo, god of the sea and the sea itself. Her gaze lingered in the common households, saw strife and love and justice and injustice, and followed the spreading of lies as though they were tangible things. Ah, but to her they were, paths of pain and sadness to be followed upon by lesser yet more substantial creatures, and she would watch them and take pity, and one day send her servant to them.  
  
"She has woken, Olorin, as we thought she would."   
  
The Maia bowed his head low. "It was your eyes that saw such things as have come to pass, not mine."   
  
Nienna turned her head from where she stood by the window. The window was an ornamental gesture, affected for the elves, though there were few here. "You see as I do."  
  
Once again, Olorin protested. "Only through your teachings, Nienna."  
  
"It is through my teachings that you have learned from Iluvatar, yes. Remember that, for though one day you may venture forth from me and my kind, always will there be Iluvatar to teach you." He moved to speak and she raised a hand to silence him. "Do not deny what you cannot see. Even the Maia will not stay with the Vala overlong."   
  
"Speak you of Melian?" asked Olorin quietly.   
  
"Yes. I do not miss her greatly, for seldom did she frequent these halls, but she reminds me that you too will leave, leave as all things must from West to East, even as the sun does in darkest night." She turned to again to face the darker ocean, staring out through the walls and over the fields to where black waves lapped at the shores. "Even he traveled to the east, he who they would judge as utterly forsaken. He yearned for the east, from which new things come. That is what made me plead for him."  
  
"The sun?" Olorin repeated, confused. "What is that of which you speak? And what is night? And why speak you of Melkor, when you were right, and he is forgiven?"   
  
"These are not questions which I may answer," she said softly, looking upon him with a wisdom indistinguishable from pity. He was reminded again that she was sister to the Feanturi, and would not always provide him with welcome answers.  
  
Gathering his strength, he promised, "I will not leave you."   
  
Nienna smiled, peaceful once more. "Not for a time, but eventually. I release you from your promise, child."  
  
The tides were very far away indeed, only beginning to stir with apprehension of the moon. She would speak to her brother of the great white globe that haunted her so.  
  
She brushed the thought aside and took Olorin's hand, whispered, "Wait." Together they became absolutely silent, hearing not even the beats of their ageless hearts. With a brush like a maiden's hand spreading cloth along a table top, she soothed Olorin's impatience. *See.*  
  
To the elf-woman, first, who now awake stood at the eastern windows of the highest tower in Tirion, facing the sea. A look of longing was etched across her face. And yet while she ached unceasingly, she did not stir or move, did not begin the path that Melian had taken. She waited, unfulfilled yet patient.  
  
Unable to stand to look upon her too long, Olorin directed their shared eyesight northward, to where two princes walked in conversation. Looking closely upon them, Olorin understood the words.  
  
'We should not make these weapons, brother. At the least, we should not hide them.'  
  
'Do you think I wished to? But the deceiver has been about, bandying words with the lesser nobles, giving them gifts among which these swords are but the least.'  
  
'Speak to Manwe, then, and all will be forgiven.'  
  
'Would you betray your own brother to the highest king? He would never to us, no matter the deepest hatred seethe in his heart.'  
  
'Perhaps. So speak to father. It cannot go on.'  
  
'Father is with Feanor, as always. Perhaps if their travels ever take them back to Tirion, I will.'   
  
*That is not what we look for, curious one.* Nienna guided him away from them, even further northward. They watched a band of riding elves, each with turmoil at heart, echoes of the deep stirrings of the sea.  
  
*Do you see?* she asked him.   
  
*Yes, I see.*   
  
*And do you understand?*  
  
*... no. I do not think so.*   
  
It was hard to understand the workings of the Vala, but yet Nienna felt that was what she must train him to do. To understand that Galadriel wept from love and not from hatred, that many of these riders were spurred not by the vicious deceptions of Melkor but by the pull of Ulmo. That even the Vala could be cruel , and even the cruel could be pitied.   
  
*Why not?* she asked him, as the vision began to falter.   
  
"I expected fire," Olorin whispered, and the vision broke.   
  
***   
  
She had found that adventuring was not quite as she had imagined it would be. She envisioned endless hours riding on the backs of her beloved horses, not realizing that eventually she would grow as tired as they. She had hoped to lie awake at night, peering through the dim tree light to watch the stars, not understanding how swiftly she would fall asleep, nor that if she attempted to sleep waking, the pebbles lodged beneath her would break her calm. And much as she loved her cousins, Maedhros' brooding but caring manner, Curufin's and Celegorm's unceasing attentions, the twins' quiet demeanor and sudden, surprising banter and Maglor's refreshing melodies, as much as she loved and delighted in all these things she found herself rather wishing for something new.   
  
She said as much to Fingon.   
  
When he had done with his affectionate laughter, he answered, "I should have expected as much from you. You are lucky, Ar-Feiniel, for soon we will be entering the borders of Formenos."   
  
Rightly he spoke, for ere the light waned they were entering a village. As they rode Maglor pulled out one of his instruments, and breathing into it created a song most familiar to the residents of these parts, one that indeed the cousins had sung throughout their journey. It was quite compelling, though the notes trilling high bordered on sweet.   
  
Caranthir glanced restlessly at his brother, perhaps wishing for a song louder and less beautiful.   
  
As they reached the town the people gathered, coming to the doors and windows to catch sight of them. The elder ones held back with respect but the children pushed forward, dodging gracefully around the horses, unheeding of their hooves. A small one of three or four, who was perhaps not yet old enough to keep from being trampled, pushed her way to Aredhel's feet.   
  
"I didn't know that there were princesses!" the girl cried, eyes alight, mouth wide with awe.   
  
Aredhel laughed at the girl's wonder. "If you count, I think you'll find you also have one too many princes."   
  
The girl grinned in response. Leaning down Aredhel brushed her fingertips over her lips and then across the girls fair hair in a sisterly kiss. Her smile even greater now, the girl dropped back.   
  
"Curufin!" one of the common elf-maiden's called as they rode past. She pushed her way to the front. She was beautiful but plain-clothed, and her eyes when she spotted Aredhel were awed, jealous. "Curufin," she mouthed again, but he did not turn to her.   
  
"You'll see a lot of those if you hang around the town," Amrod whispered to Aredhel.   
  
"Although, not as many as he used to have," Amras added, with a smile.   
  
Aredhel frowned and turned away. It was not Curufin's associations with common women that disappointed her. It was the way he had ignored the poor girl, riding high on his steed with his head forward. She was none too pleased with the twins' banter, either, though she had to admire their loyalty to Celegorm. He rode up front near Maedhros and Maglor, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of a maiden calling out his name.   
  
"Come now, cousin," Amrod said, "you'll not have thought that all elf princes were as chaste as your brother Fingon? Or as kindly as Celegorm?"   
  
"Haven't you any feelings for the poor girl?" Aredhel snapped.   
  
"Of course," Amras hastily replied. "We know her well, for at times she hunts with us. Her name is Narwen."   
  
Riding up towards where Maedhros and Fingon rode, Aredhel asked, "May we stop here for the night?"   
  
Curufin coughed nervously. "I think we can make the next village, don't you, Maedhros?"   
  
"But I'm very tired," Aredhel murmured, "and I'd love to meet the townsfolk."   
  
Ignoring the look of delight on Celegorm's face and the way Curufin's was reddening, Maedhros nodded and said, "Certainly. There is a small inn I know of here, which might have its rooms free."   
  
They were lucky there were no other travelers, for the inn was indeed small and the only one of its kind. She had reminded everyone that when camping out in the open she was hardly far away, but Maedhros replied kindly yet firmly that the whole town watched its nobility, and the slightest break in propriety would be found a fault. So she took one room while the other eight shared two, as the inn had only that much space.   
  
She was just readying herself for bed, having finished what seemed like the most luxurious bath she'd ever taken, when Fingon entered her rooms.   
  
"Have you been enjoying the trip, Aredhel?" Fingon asked gently, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.   
  
Aredhel sighed and relaxed against him. "I am. But I miss - home."   
  
Fingon nodded, careful not to dislodge her as he shifted to face her. "So do I. But home will be there when you get back, so take your time to enjoy what is here now."   
  
"It also bothered me, today. About Curufin and that maiden. Everyone treated it like it was nothing, like it was okay to pretend to - do all men do that?" Aredhel asked.   
  
"Sometimes women do it, too," Fingon chided her.   
  
Blushing, Aredhel shot back, "You think you're so grown up, don't you? Go ahead and say it, I know you want to." She sat up, thrust her nose in the air and said in a deep voice, "My, Aredhel, you're getting so tall."   
  
"You want to know what I think of you, Ar-Feiniel?" Slowly and with great concentration, Fingon stuck his tongue out at her.   
  
Aredhel laughed and asked, "Will you rest now, too?"   
  
Fingon shook his head. "Perhaps in a bit I shall, but for now I will rejoin the others downstairs. Maglor sings to make us merry, and if some still need help after that, there is some decent wine. Rest now, my favorite sister." Saying so, he rose and left.   
  
A smile on her face, Aredhel began to do just that. Despite her teasing she took comfort in his presence, and a warm, protected feeling suffused her body. Slowly she turned over to douse her light, when out of the corner of her eye she saw a sudden movement. Metal flashed back the dying flame of her candle.   
  
She had just about time to recognize the intruder as a woman before she struck.   
  
The girl was stronger than she, taller and larger-boned with muscles from daily work. Yet Aredhel was quicker, and furthermore skilled, as she had once convinced Turgon to teach her how to fight. Her blows had little force but good location, and she was able to duck most of those returned. Only once was she hit with any force, and while her head still rang from the blow, the girl turned and tried to run.   
  
Aredhel lunged and grabbed her, and she swung around. The girl had the weapon, but made no pretense of using it, and rather kicked with her legs and tried to scramble towards the window.   
  
Stifling a cry as the girl's foot connected behind her knee, Aredhel fell to the floor and rolled, coming up again in front of the girl's escape. Standing up and trying not to limp, she set herself to fight again, but instead the girl let her knife drop to the floor, sat down on Aredhel's bed, and began to cry.   
  
After a moment of stunned surprise, Aredhel walked and sat down next to her, once she had made sure the knife was put away and the lamp kindled again. She turned the girl's face towards her and her guess was confirmed - it was Narwen.   
  
Glad that she had given her brother no reason to rush back to her door, she sat down next to the now harmless maiden and asked, "Why do you wish to hurt me?"   
  
The Narwen looked up, aghast. "No! I did not come here with the intent of harming you. I wish I had not laid hands on you at all, but I wanted to escape - "   
  
"Why did you come here?"   
  
The girl lowered her head and gestured to where the knife was stowed. "I wanted to cut off your hair. Perhaps then Prince Curufin would want me instead of you."   
  
Running a hand over her hair, Aredhel replied, "You might have done me a favor - 'tis very hot to travel with all this hair." When Narwen did not smile or even look up, Aredhel decided to be direct. "Curufin may love me, and there is nothing I can do about that. But I do not love him."   
  
"You do not?"  
  
"No. Should he ask for me, I would refuse. He is my half-cousin, though that alone does not keep me from him. No, it is that we are too alike, he and I. Too hard. We need someone gentle," Aredhel explained, and for a moment, her eyes seemed very distant.   
  
"I am hardly gentle," murmured Narwen, gazing at her callused hand.   
  
"Do I look like I am not?" Aredhel demanded. "I am tired of being judged by my station, and so, I think, are you. If I am not the gentle woman Curufin believes me to be, then perhaps you are."   
  
Narwen stifled a sob. "Why do you say such things to me? Why have you not called in all the men to punish me, or punished me yourself?"   
  
"I don't want to," Aredhel replied simply. "My father's mother Indis once told me that it is not for elves to judge each other's crimes. Of course, within a week I was being denied berries for supper because I had drawn father an epic picture on the walls with the juices..." Her voice trailed off as she realized she had again lost Narwen. "Besides, I was rather hoping you would be my friend."   
  
The girl's head snapped up. "What? Why?"   
  
"Most of my girl friends are too boring to think of attacking me. Of course, Elenwe might have, but she's a mother now, and Galad - " Aredhel cut herself off. "Do you suppose you could teach me how to use a bow and arrow? Celegorm tries, but he's a man and he doesn't know how to teach a woman."   
  
"Yes, of course I will teach you, but - "   
  
"But what?" Aredhel demanded, well aware that she had control of the situation. "This works out perfectly, don't you see? So, Curufin has invited me to see some 'beautiful meadows' tomorrow..."  
  
***   
  
"Galadriel?"   
  
Amarie's sweet voice would not carry far amidst the roaring of the bay, so Galadriel was not surprised when the young elf appeared beside her. "Yes, Amarie? Have you come to check on me?"   
  
Amarie was usually very composed, and Galadriel thought she had never seen her so ill at ease. "Not exactly."   
  
Gently, Galadriel asked, "Have you come to talk to me about my brother?"   
  
"Yes, I - " Amarie stopped, looked down to her feet as though the tassels on her slippers were as fascinating as the sea. "Yes."   
  
"I'm not sure what help I can give you, besides to say what I see."   
  
"Tell me that, then."   
  
"I see he is happy when he is around you. Other things make him happy - being in the caves, riding and hunting, sporting with Turgon and Fingon and my father's other sons. But what you give him is a quiet happiness. You fit together, somehow. You are his softness and he is your strength."   
  
Amarie clutched her hands about herself, trying to savor the words, those which she had felt completely but had not dared to voice. And Galadriel said them with such quiet confidence that it gave Amarie heart. As though they came so naturally that they were new to even Galadriel. A small smile forming on her lips, Amarie said, "I have never felt this way. It has come upon me all of a sudden, and I do not wish it to ever leave."   
  
"Let me show you something, Amarie. In a little while Telperion will wane and the stars will shine their brightest over the sea. And then, if you look closely, you can see that light reflecting in the waves."   
  
Amarie, confused, said nothing.   
  
"When I watch it, it seems like the most beautiful thing Iluvatar ever created, and it feels like I would rather gaze upon it forever than move from where I sit. And yet, when the last pocket of light has been swallowed by Laurelin, I can stir with ease. I can leave and not watch the shore for several days, I can forget what seemed to be the most perfect beauty."   
  
"I'm not sure I understand your council," Amarie said.   
  
"What we love comes and goes. What seems a certainty can be gone with the change of mood. You will know what you must cling to not because it is what you love, but because it is what you are."   
  
"So you're saying, if Finrod comes to me - "   
  
"Oh, he will come to you. I do not doubt that."   
  
" - then his love should not be enough?"   
  
Galadriel smiled. "It is enough for now."   
  
Amarie sighed, as much of her frustration as she'd let show. "What other time is there?"   
  
Galadriel seemed to be swaying towards the ocean, leaning in and out with each wave. "There is the future. A future. A path, and he will help you pick the right one - "   
  
"Galadriel?"   
  
Galadriel tore her eyes from the ocean at once, panicked and uncertain. "What have I just said to you?"   
  
Amarie's face mirrored Galadriel's. "Are you feeling well, Galadriel? You look very pale."   
  
"I thought for a moment, as I watched the sea, that he was speaking to me..." Galadriel shook her head. "You are right, friend Amarie, perhaps it is best if I go indoors for a while."   
  
"I will come with you."   
  
"No," Galadriel replied, "you should wait here." She looked out into the mainland, saw two figures walking close together, and though she could not see who they were, she thought she knew. "It may be tonight."   
  
It was indeed Finrod who she saw, but he did not see her, or Amarie, as he walked with Turgon absorbed in his thoughts.   
  
"Tell me again the story of how you met Elenwe? How you - " Finrod coughed quickly, "approached her? Forgive me, cousin, but we always did everything together, and now it seems you have rushed ahead of me. So really it is all your fault that you must give your silly kinsman some guidance."   
  
"Gratefully I do so," Turgon replied. He paused to collect his words and memories. "If you'll remember, Elenwe was a friend of Aredhel's, for most of Aredhel's friends are older, like your sister and the sons of Feanor. Long did I watch Elenwe for she is very beautiful, but nothing did I say. Aye, I was planning to speak to her, truly I was. I was!" he repeated at Finrod's laugh. "I just rather forgot what I meant to say when she was near me."   
  
"And what then, Turgon?"   
  
"Well Aredhel, you'll have realized, is quite perceptive, and she confronted me about the look in my eyes whenever Elenwe guested with us. Then she said that if I would like my tongue untied - she'd already spent too much time with Feanor's sons by then - she would get Elenwe to do so, for a price."   
  
"A price?" Finrod asked, surprised.   
  
"Aye, a price, and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this between us. I wouldn't like my father knowing that I taught his only daughter how to fight."   
  
"How to fight?" Finrod echoed. "Oh, I think he knows."   
  
"What mean you?"   
  
"Why else would he have let her ride with the sons of Feanor?"   
  
Turgon smiled. "Perhaps he does know, at that."   
  
"I was jesting, cousin!"   
  
"So was I!" Turgon laughed. "I hardly believe the enmity between the houses runs that deep. I believe that most of them would rather mate her than maim her."   
  
"You mention mating..."   
  
"Right. So I agreed that I would teach her the skills of self-defense, against both elf and beast, and perhaps also the bow and arrow, though I never got around to that."   
  
"Why didn't you? I can't imagine Aredhel letting you forget."   
  
"My dear Finrod," Turgon replied, somewhat patronizingly, "when one marries one becomes suddenly quite busy."   
  
Laughing, Finrod pressed, "But I still don't understand how you gained the strength to approach Elenwe."   
  
"I didn't, that's the point. The very night I made my deal with Aredhel, Elenwe came up to me, pulled my face down to where she could reach me, and gave me the most thorough kiss I'd ever received."   
  
"Elenwe!" Finrod exclaimed. "I can't imagine her doing a thing like that at all."   
  
"Oh, neither could I, then. But I've found that one will do all sorts of uncharacteristic things for love."   
  
"Ah," Finrod nodded as if he had found the answers to everything that had ever troubled him. "So that's why I found you that one day wearing a necklace and waiting quite calmly while Idril painted your face."  
  
Turgon grew quite red but he answered with dignity, "She wanted to know why her mother always wore it but her father did not. She said it was very unfair. Quite takes after Aredhel, that one does."   
  
They lapsed into a companionable silence as Finrod considered Turgon's words. Turgon himself smiled fondly as he recalled the moments that the conversation had brought to mind. He remembered Elenwe after the ceremony, no longer bold but nervous, pausing at the threshold to the door. He had taken her hand, asked "Follow me?" She released a deep breath and stepped into his arms.   
  
Elenwe always looked beautiful, Turgon thought, whether calm or fiery, trembling, uncertain or bold. So beautiful, lying upon his bed with nothing but her long hair to clothe her.   
  
But, Turgon reminded himself, breaking from his reverie, not every love was like his own. Not every elf was Elenwe, though of course Finrod was probably not so thickheaded as Turgon himself could be. Yet love did not work out for everyone.   
  
Turgon remembered how shadowed Fingon had looked, present at his younger brother's joining but standing alone. Turgon had gone to him and said lightly, "I hope that one day soon I may stand where you stand now, and watch you shine in your happiness." But Fingon had only sighed, his brow furrowing until his face took on a mien so somber and unusual that Turgon had not forgotten it. Then Fingon gave his congratulations to his brother, and went to stand with Aredhel, who slipped an arm around his waist with a look too knowing for her years.   
  
"Should I go to her?" Finrod asked at last, and Turgon studied him.   
  
"I do not know her mind, my friend, but I have always regretted most the flower that never has the chance to blossom, that is crushed before it opens. There is always the chance that she may embrace you like the light. Yes, go to her."   
  
Finrod nodded, although he did not move immediately. "You have never spoken to me thus before, Turgon."   
  
"Well," replied Turgon, evenly, "the smell of you after days on a horse without rain has never quite moved me to poetry."   
  
Finrod laughed, and then as though he refused to hesitate he wrapped his arms around his cousin and hugged him fiercely. Just as quickly, he pulled his arms back and hurried away, in what a very surprised Turgon assumed was the direction of Amarie.   
  
***   
  
The slight touch of a breeze where his tunic lay open could have been what awoke him, but to Fingon it felt like hesitating fingertips. He did not move his eyes until the last vestiges of warmth had vanished from the hollow of his throat. When no hand, no warmth returned, he shifted his gaze to where Maedhros sat innocently at the window.   
  
"Awake before me as always, cousin," Fingon said suddenly, but of course Maedhros did not startle.   
  
"The rest of us slept only briefly, for there is little pleasure in dreams when you cannot watch the stars as well. But perhaps we were not as tired as you and Aredhel."   
  
"I take it, then, that she is not up?"   
  
"Not up? She is up, and away to the meadows with Curufin."   
  
This seemed to shock Fingon. "Curufin?"   
  
"She seemed very eager to go with him," Maedhros mused. "I wonder if she has chosen."   
  
Fingon turned towards the window so Maedhros wouldn't see how much the thought displeased him. At length he asked, "And how does this delay bode for our travels?"   
  
"In a few days we will reach my father's dwellings," Maedhros replied with a wave of his hand. "It is of no consequence."   
  
"What shall we do while we wait for the others to return?"   
  
Something moved in the depths of Maedhros' eyes, and it was a long moment before he answered, "I had planned to go visiting. As you must know, you can never pay too much attention to your subjects."   
  
"And the others?"   
  
"Celegorm and the twins have gone out on a brief hunting trip with some of the residents of these parts. Curufin and Aredhel, as I said before, are heading for the meadows. And I believe Maglor is at this moment in the drinking room downstairs, trying to get Caranthir to sing."   
  
Fingon chuckled. "I wish him great luck in that - I'm sure he'll need it."  
  
Maedhros watched how the light struck him through the window, how the shadows fell on the floorboards and contrasted with his laughter. "And where - what shall you do this day?"  
  
Fingon turned to him, his face now shaded, and said, "I shall go with you, of course."   
  
Neither of them moved, and Maedhros thought that if he took but a few steps, he could feel again the kiss which had lingered on his lips for many days. He thought that he could reach again to the tunic guarding the warm skin of Fingon's chest and slip beneath its defenses. But in truth there was no defense, no self-protection, nothing between them besides what Maedhros put there. How many times could he be asked to reject his cousin's offering, how many times could he do right and turn himself from the embrace? Oh, father, he thought. If you knew how much you ask of me...   
  
"You shall?" he asked Fingon, with a curt nod that was meant less as a forbidding gesture and more of a way to hide his own eyes. He forced himself to think of other things. They'd need to start with Mithwen's household, for she was held in highest esteem in this town, then perhaps to Linedhel's, for he was the eldest and were it not for the grey maiden he would be the leader of this ordinary town. He looked back up at Fingon, who was watching him with ill-concealed disappointment. "Then come."   
  
*** 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five Chapter Five 

*** 

Celegorm paced around his horse, every so often glancing down at his boots and taking note of how muddy they were getting. Despite his - well, some called it vanity - when dressing for company or for dinners with father and grandfather, he disregarded dirt and grime when out on the hunt. Sometimes he painted his face with it, to become part of the forest, and stuck leaves in his shirt and in his hair. He regarded the progression of mud up his boots with a faint satisfaction instead of regret. 

Besides, Aredhel would not be here. His eyes narrowing, Celegorm turned to face his horse. "It's not like he even loves her. He just won't admit it. So he takes her away from me..." 

His horse whinnied, commiserating. Most of the time he felt no reservations in his affections for his brothers. And indeed, he spent the greater part of his days with Curufin. So he knew that his brother was not in love with Aredhel, try to convince himself of that as he may. He was no more in love with her than with the several mistresses he had kept - pretty maidens, willing to risk anything for a promise and a kiss, and Celegorm could tell from the glittering in Curufin's eyes that he liked not their faces but the looks of adoration on them, and that was what kept him coming back. 

Until now, Celegorm had not cared what Curufin had done with them, but Narwen was a friend, and Aredhel - Aredhel was - 

Aredhel was here. 

Celegorm blinked several times to make sure that he saw truly. Then, walking to her, he wondered aloud, "Aren't you to be in the meadows with Curufin?" 

"I decided I'd rather go hunting, and he has taken someone else." 

"I can't imagine he would agree to that," Celegorm murmured. 

Aredhel shrugged, but there was a definite guilty look on her face. "He didn't really get a chance to." 

"Aredhel! Aredhel!" came two voice from behind them, and she turned to see the grinning, identical faces of Amrod and Amras. "Did it work?" 

"You knew about this?" Celegorm exclaimed, barely able to believe it. 

The twins smiled. Amrod said, "Aredhel needed some help pulling it off and thought that you might be too honorable to do it." 

"Don't be angry," Amras soothed, seeing the look on his face change from shock to mistrust. "She's here, isn't she? Besides, she's Aredhel. She'll be fine." 

"Of course I'll be," Aredhel snapped, nervous. "So, Celegorm. Are you willing to bring me on this hunt? I'll do what you say, I promise. I just want to know what it's like." 

It took Celegorm but a moment to convince himself to agree. It was likely now that they'd catch no prey, not bringing along a first-time hunter, but as she had agreed to follow his word there was little chance of her being hurt. He sighed, giving in. "Do you want me to continue the shooting lessons?" 

Amrod, Amras and Aredhel shared a smile. 

"Oh, I had Narwen show me the basics. Nothing personal, Celegorm, but a woman shoots very different from a man," Aredhel's face colored slightly, remembering the lesson. Narwen had been quite surprised at how novice she was, but all in all was a decent teacher, explaining that when pulling the bow back a woman must be careful of her breast, and must also align her hips, and lean further for her arms were not as strong. 

"Well, that's for the better, then," Celegorm replied. "It's time to go." 

Four other elves were mounting their horses. Aredhel, Celegorm and the twins hurried to do the same. Once they were all ready they started at a quick trot towards an opening in the trees. 

"We can talk now," Celegorm said, "for it will be a while before we reach our hunting grounds and dismount, and look for our prey. Is there anything you'd like to know?" 

"How often have you hunted here?" Aredhel asked, speaking over the sounds of the horses' hooves. 

"Not very," Celegorm replied. "It is an uncommon route, and the town is not often travelled to. But Curufin likes to come here to see Narwen, and the headmistresses of the town is wise and very loyal to our father, so Maedhros likes to pay respects to her when we come by. Thus, we've been here a few times, hunted this place rather well." 

"And does Narwen come with you when you hunt?" Aredhel asked, curious to learn more about the girl she had so quickly made friends with. "Is she good?" 

"Yes, and very," Celegorm answered both questions. "She is good at lulling the prey, pretending to be soft, safe and then suddenly lashing out with a wild attack. When we surround the prey, it often runs to her, the woman with the meek glance. But she is a sure shot, and never lets the prey escape." 

Aredhel nodded, began to speak, but Celegorm continued, "You think you can predict her, but you can't. That's very dangerous, Aredhel. Once we went hunting and were having difficulty capturing the prey. She thought so many of us made too much noise so she slipped off by herself. She got the game, but one of us nearly got her. The thing was, we thought she was tired and had hung back. We never expected what she did. We didn't know to watch her." Aredhel knew the words he was not speaking: 'You, love, I know to watch.' 

"I won't get hurt," Aredhel replied, Celegorm's worries making her feel both flustered and frustrated. The comment that Fingon had made the night before still stung. "And I won't hurt myself shooting." 

"You'll hardly get a chance to shoot," Celegorm replied. "I doubt we'll get close enough. And even if you did..." 

"Even if I did *what*?" Aredhel asked. 

Celegorm looked like he wanted to take the remark back, but one of the other elves turned around and said, "He means it takes something to kill a living creature. Something inside of you. Something that maidens don't often have." 

"Skill?" Aredhel spat. 

"No. A lack of heart." 

"That's ridiculous!" Aredhel said, and the other elf turned back, but she continued to Celegorm, "Why should it take any more cruelty to kill a thing than to eat it. It's dying on account of you anyway. Why, if I was such a maiden as you think I would eat nothing but fruit from the trees... and why think you that a maiden is more likely to care than a man? I tell you - " 

Celegorm put a finger to his lips and Aredhel, despite her anger, quieted. For a moment she tried to read his gaze - he looked suprised and impatient and tender all at once. Then she turned back to the hunt. 

*** 

Narwen knew, as she pulled her hood around her to hide her face, that this plan was not going to work out very well. Certainly, Aredhel's borrowed white cloak - nothing like what Narwen usually wore - hid her identity well. But eventually Curufin would realize who his companion was. Eventually he would want to see her face. 

So what would she gain by coming? A friend in Aredhel, perhaps. A chance to hurt Curufin as much as he hurt her? 

She had managed not to talk so far, escorted to the meeting place by Amrod and Amras whose excuses for her silence she barely remembered. One of them had purposely mentioned that they had told her the route, explaining in advance why she might ride ahead as she did now. 

Curufin made a loud coughing noise behind her. "Aredhel?" 

Narwen and Aredhel had practiced using eachother's voices while Narwen taught her new friend how to shoot. Narwen pitched her voice slightly higher, and immitating the Tirion accent answered, "Yes?" 

For now, it worked. "Aredhel, do you want to come and ride by me?" 

"I'd rather - I'd rather not." 

"Why?" Curufin sounded wounded. 

Narwen risked a longer answer, trying to maintain the same voice. "When you haven't said the words I long to hear..." 

The hoofbeats of Curufin's horse behind her suddenly stopped. She paused, too, but did not look back. 

"What do you want me to say?" Curufin asked, at length. 

"If you do not know, I would not have you toy with me..." 

"I know, Ar-Feiniel, I know. You long to hear them?" he seemed suprised, and almost unwillingly he began. "Shall I say them, then? Shall I say that I love you? Shall I say that each time we rested on our journey I watched your sweet sleeping face, and wanted nothing more then to watch you forever? Shall I say that when you gaze upon me I feel worthless, as though your eyes should not fall upon such a wretched creature as me, and yet also lifted, lifted up to something new and greater by your very prescence - " 

His words were smooth, nothing like the proclamations of love Narwen remembered, where he had stumbled over himself in his haste and - she had presumed at the time - passion. But they were so beautiful, not to be uttered twice, and he did not know he was wasting them on her. 

"Stop, Curufin. I am not Aredhel." And she turned and revealed her face. 

The look upon his face was worse than she and Aredhel could ever have predicted. Narwen was now certain that Aredhel did not understand her cousin. At least Narwen had had some foreboding of how angry Curufin would be to be tricked, how humiliated. 

"How - why - " Curufin spluttered, then resumed control and said coldly, "How dare you do this to me? Where is Aredhel?" 

Summoning her strength, Narwen replied, "I think you owe me the same answer. How dare you do this to *me*?" 

"I am not your husband," Curufin said. "I owe you nothing." But even as he said this he had to stop himself from moving to comfort her. 

"And I am not your plaything!" Narwen cried. "No matter what you may think, I am not some foolish elf to be discarded when a princess comes to town. I thought you loved me, but now you say you want only Aredhel - well, tell me, to which of us do you lie?" 

"Where is Aredhel?" Curufin asked, trying to avoid an answer. 

"Answer my question!" 

"Answer mine!" 

But Narwen knew better than to do that. If she told Curufin that Aredhel had deliberately avoided his company, he would know he had no chance with her, and Narwen would always have to wonder whether she was the second choice. "How many times you have claimed me, Curufin, with your lips and your hands, and of course with your words. But never would you consent to join with me, and I know why. Because joining is giving as well as taking, and you are incapable of giving! Well, that is over. You will give me back my declarations of love and the pleasure I gave you, and most of all you will give me back my heart! I want nothing more to do with you!" 

Curufin's anger melted into fear, fear of losing Narwen. How he wished she were of nobler birth, how he wished she could honor him before his father - 

"Chose," Narwen said coldly, but the desperation was evident in her voice, and her body drooped as though she was broken. 

And suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. There was no duty, no expectation of him so important as to stand between them. For a moment, he paused, and wondered whether his father had felt the same sense of release and glorious freedom when he postponed his achievements to marry Nerdanel - a flash of pain went through him as he thought of her betrayal - marry her at an age much younger even than the usual. 

But no, impatience was not his crime. And every lecture his father delivered to Maedhros, of finding a woman to bear him a suitable heir, did not apply to him. So what if she was not the daughter of an important house - would not any wife be lower, for she could not be of the house of Feanor? 

For all he wasted a precious minute reaffirming his decision, the choice was already made. "I chose you," he said, and in two swift steps he was before her, reaching out and crushing her body to him, lowering his lips to hers. 

She moaned once, a gasp of pure and happy submission, then with a sudden, surpising spark of movement she was kissing him back, as greedy as he was for her. 

Their lips parted so that they could breathe, but Curufin spent the moment instead raking his eyes across her face, taking in the beauty of her bruised lips and her eyes nearly black with desire as though it were air, and then they were kissing again. His chest burned for air as his skin did at her touch. 

He knew that he could have her there, would have her if he did not stop himself from moving against her to the rhythm of their beating hearts, so he pushed himself from her, gasping at the breach of contact. 

"What?" she asked, loss and desire evident in her voice. "Why?" 

For a brief moment, the possibility of Aredhel passed through his mind. His father would have been proud, and their children would have been so beautiful - 

He cupped his hand low on Narwen's belly, still tight and flat and virgin. The child she would bear for him would be beautiful, too, and the only one he cared to have. 

She moved once again to join herself to him, and again he forestalled her. "I - I don't think I can stand not to have you here, but I won't. I want a ceremony - I want - they'll need a ceremony at least, because your family is so poor - but - and I haven't even ask you yet!" he faltered in his rambling, overcome with uncertain laughter. 

"You don't have to ask," she whispered to him. "All you have to do is say yes." 

He grabbed her hand, savoring the contact and not trusting himself with any more. "Oh, Narwen. Yes. Yes." 

*** 

After Fingon had bathed - an offer to join had been extended only half-teasingly to Maedhros - and the two had eaten, they joined Caranthir and Maglor in the common room. 

Caranthir watched the two of them casually but unceasingly. Oddly enough, it was Caranthir who seemed to regard them most knowingly. He sat by the unlit fireplace, humoring Maglor, watching the space between his brother and cousin as they came down the narrow stairs. Maedhros caught his eyes, tried to tell him, 'There is nothing here' but Caranthir only smiled darkly, 'What if there is?' 

Maglor seemed outwardly oblivious but his tune changed to one of tension, the beat of his fingers on the table top quickening. The rhythm continued as the song broke for Maglor to ask, "Did you sleep well, Fingon?" 

Fingon nodded. "I thought Caranthir was to aide you in singing me awake?" 

"Aye, but he does not like to take the woman's part in the harmonies, and I'm afraid I cannot sing both." 

"Why don't you take the high part?" Fingon asked. He knew little of music but parts in a harmony seemed easy enough to trade. 

"The low part is the lead, and he does not know the tune." 

"Then why not change it?" 

Maglor smiled. "You are full of solutions, cousin, but a tune cannot be changed." 

"Neither, aparently, can your brother." 

Maedhros seemed about to speak up, but realized who the comment was aimed at. Maglor's grin widened. "No, stubborn as a mule and quiet as a songbird with a catch in its throat." 

"I'm sitting right here, you know," Caranthir said mildly. "I feel no need to lift my voice so high when it is obviously meant for singing low. Besides, I resent your metaphor. A choking bird still makes the attempt to sing - I do you all a favor when I refrain." 

"Don't disparage yourself," Fingon said, though inwardly he was glad that at least one of Feanor's son could admit a simple fault. And Caranthir, no less! The elf had spoken barely a word to him the whole trip. Fingon got the impression that he was now humoring him as he had Maglor. "I haven't much of a voice myself, but I would not be ashamed." 

"I would if you were my brother," Caranthir replied easily. When his three companions froze he seemed to realize that his comment could be taken other ways, but he leaned back in his chair, determined not to care. 

Maedhros put a hand on Fingon's shoulder, whispered in his ear, "Don't mind him" and again Caranthir's eyes were upon them, seeming to note every touch. Maedhros felt his throat tighten - did Caranthir know anything? No, there was nothing to know - yet. But if there was, would he tell their father? Maglor would never, Curufin would certainly, but Caranthir? Best not to give him anything to tell. 

"Are you going out today?" Maedhros asked. 

Maglor gave the question intense concentration. "I thought perhaps I should play in the town's center, and invite them all to come out and sing." 

"And you, Caranthir?" 

He seemed almost hesitant before speaking. With unnatural quietness, he asked, "I thought perhaps to ride ahead, to the next town? I have a friend - some friends, I'd like to see. Surely you know how it is, my brother." He adressed Maedhros but his eyes travelled over to Fingon. 

"Of course," Maedhros replied. "We shall leave within a day and catch up with you then. Are you ready, Fingon?" 

They set out along the street to Linedhel's house. He had decided that Mithwen was wise enough to appreciate the value of being last, whereas Linedhel might take it as an affront that the nobility did not come first to his door. He was on the other end of town, however, and the walk was rather uphill. 

Maedhros was careful not to watch him cousin, but as he did so he had to wonder, why now? They had gone on so many trips together before, and while he often watched him while he slept, discreetly admired him while he bathed and ached deep inside himself when he saw the undeniably erotic visage of Fingon posting on his horse, while he lived with the fact of his attraction, it had never been placed so openly between them. Perhaps, perhaps if they weren't riding straight for his father's stronghold... 

And perhaps it was because now he knew that his unwise affections were returned, and if he gave in, if he denied his duties both as the first son and today as an emissary to the heads of the town, he could spend the day - 

"No." Maedhros told himself, ducking the bemused glance that Fingon sent him. 

"We are here," he said, wiping the previous train of thought from his mind. Looking for a way to alert Linedhel to their presence, although of course the elf had learned of it the night before and now eagerly awaited them, but prorieties must be kept. Maedhros saw a wind charm of sorts, elegantly done out of soft metals. He leaned over and blew steadily on the the jeweled strands and a sweet, chaotic music emerged. 

"Ah, Prince Maedhros!" Linedhel said, coming to the door very quickly. "And - ?" 

"The Prince Fingon, first son of Fingolfin who is second son of King Finwe." 

Linedhel bowed his head deeply, then rose. "Won't you come in?" 

The floor they stood on was of neatly polished wood, bare and shining. Tables along the hall were filled with the area's finest wild flowers. Bunches of tamed roses in the colors of Feanor's house were the most common, but Maedhros espied several token knots of of silver white poppies with petals of pale blue. Maedhros smiled. A quick thinker, Linedhel was - or perhaps it was his wife. 

"How may I help you?" Linedhel asked once they had looked around. 

"Ah, rather the question is how we may help you. Is there anything you are needing from the King?" 

"Not for myself," Linedhel replied, "but for the town - " 

"Yes?" 

"We are but a small town, my lord, but we are quite productive. Our hunters always give us a surplus of meat. And our flowers are quite marvelous to behold, and surely would look quite beautiful braided in the hair of the men and maidens of Formenos city. Yet the stress of travel erases all profit. And so our bounty is left untouched, and we miss the trade of other towns, and the merchants that travel to Formenos. Mostly we miss the jewel trade - ah, it would be such to our pride to wear the jewels of the Noldor! But they only enter our local markets when elves return from visiting." 

"What is it you would have me do, Linedhel?" Maedhros asked. 

"The forests to the north of here are difficult to travel through, yet seldom hunted anymore. The beasts of the woods have grown secure in their homes. We have no need for them, so cut them down! Yes, clear a better path through it, so that trade may come more freely to us." 

"The felling of trees is not a task to be taken lightly," Maedhros frowned. "Yavanna protects them more fiercely than all the other creatures of the earth." 

"Oh, come," snapped Linedhel, displeased at Maedhros' refusal. "Your father would worry over offending a Vala?" 

Maedhros saw out of the corner of his eye a hint of anger in the tightening of Fingon's face. Nevertheless, he continued the discussion. 

"There is compromise to be had here. I assume then that if trade were more open to this town, you would send your brightest younglings to the palace to learn?" 

Linedhel frowned. "I - yes." 

The school Feanor had opened in Formenos was, so far as Maedhros knew, unique. Mostly elves were reared in their own houses, or fostered, but Feanor had created the center in order to more quickly spread his own developments, his language and his jewel-making techniques, and with the more trust-worthy students, the forging and using of swords. Feanor also reasoned that it brought the people together, and made children as loyal to the house of Feanor as their fathers had been. 

Maedhros knew his father would be quite pleased with the business he had done. Not only were they getting the younglings of a border town, they would increase their hold upon it through trade. Perhaps they could even make it dependent. If they left, the people of the town would have no choice but to follow. "Very well. I will take our proposal to my father." 

Although the business was quite done, they stayed a little longer, for Linedhel seemed compelled to prove that he knew all the gossip of the cities. Often Maedhros had to direct his comments away from mentions of his father, for Linedhel, while enthusiastic, was not always discreet. Eventually he grew altogether too tired of listening to the elf and made his farewells. 

"Where go we next, Maedhros?" Fingon asked. 

"This way," Maedhros replied, leading them towards the finest house in the town where Mithwen dwelt. It was a ways away, back towards the inn, and they walked in silence. But it was not the silence of their past friendship, when to think side by side was as easy as to laugh and ride and play together - rather, Maedhros could feel Fingon as he turned to look upon him. 

"Before we go on, please," Fingon said, turning and catching Maedhros' sleeve. Given the attention Maedhros had been paying, he knew of Fingon's movement before he made it, and so doing should have evaded it. At least, that is what he remonstrated himself with. 

He longed for the connection, even through cloth, the way to hold on to his shirt Fingon must need step near. That is why he did not move, perhaps he had even wished for Fingon to place his hand upon his shoulder. Alas! Thought Maedhros, for a time when we would lie as children with our bodies pressed together, with no worry of passion, when we would ride together on a horse's back and he would wrap himself around me - why must things be so difficult? And yet he did not dislike the change. 

Suddenly he felt a great detachment. How strange they must look, standing in the middle of a dusty street in their fine clothes, his own sleeve being stretched beyond bearing and their eyes holding a subtle torture unusual for such a simple place. Things were difficult because he made them so. Maedhros laughed. He made things difficult, yes, and the solution was easy - to divorce himself of all tenderness for his cousin. 

The laugh which broke the silence seemed to put Fingon upon edge. He spoke quickly, "It has been but a few days since we last spoke of this, but I must bring it up again, though you told me to wait. And yet I think you have this conversation with yourself, this argument you always seem to lose - and it pains me, Maedhros, my Russandol." 

"What argument is it?" Maedhros asked, turning to walk again. Fingon followed behind him. 

"I do not know. I do not know why it is so important for you to have an heir. And I try to be patient, but I want to know why." 

"Because - " Maedhros cut himself off. 'You fool!' He wanted to shout. 'Because we will leave this land one day, and who knows what security we will have? Who knows how quickly will fall our grandfather's line?' He wanted to make his reasoning clear, and he feared that Fingon knew he was not merely with-holding his body and spirit, but also his knowledge. He wanted to tell his friend everything. 

But his father would not approve, and he would not gainsay his father. And yet, why then did he bring his cousin with him as he did business with the leaders of the towns, if not to show him why he refused his advances? 

"Because what?" Fingon asked softly. 

"I cannot say. You ask too much of me, Fingon." 

In so public a place he could not move closer but Maedhros felt his cousin caress him with his gaze. Quietly, he said, "I ask only what you were made to give." 

"I am not - " 

"No, Maedhros. I know this does not change anything. We will go on as we were, watching eachother and remembering the sweetness of that one kiss, but one day I believe that whatever troubles your heart will be soothed. And then we will ride the fields of Valinor again, and we will not be friends as we were, or princes and burden-carriers as we are now. And we will explore this thing between us." 

Maedhros wanted to weep for the dear reassurance of his cousin and the bitterness of it when he heard his father's words ringing in his ears, 'We should leave this Valar's prison! The jewels we mine are not ours, nor are the forests we hunt, nor the fields we ride. So let us leave them and find our own.' 

He could not answer his cousin, could not even meet his eyes, and was relieved to see they were at the Mithwen's doorstep. He stopped in front of it, trying not to feel the hurt emanating from Fingon behind him. 

The grey maiden needed no pretense. She opened the door as he was looking around for a way to announce their presence, and smiled warmly. "My lord Prince Maedhros," she greeted him, "and Prince Fingon, I presume? 

They both nodded. 

"It is an honor to have you at my household," she led them to a room with wide windows and gestured for them to sit. "I am sure you've adressed the needs of this town with Linedhel, however." 

She nodded to someone in the doorway. Another woman, a dark and less beautiful shadow of Mithwen, stepped in to the room. She was very obviously with child. 

"This is my younger sister, who is staying with me for a few weeks. It seems she needs help with something. I do not mean to impose, but - " 

"Will you help her, cousin?" Maedhros asked. It was an unsubtle ploy, but Fingon was not known to have a devious mind. Amiably, he stood and left the room. 

When he was out of earshot Mithwen began. "I must warn you of the stirrings in these border towns. Mind you what I say goes not just for our village, but many nearby, though I wish it were not so." 

"What is it, then?" Maedhros asked. 

"Your father's words are sweet to my ears, and to many of the nobility's, but around here people don't understand what your father means with his talk of free will. The lands here are too pleasant to leave on a principle so abstract." 

Maedhros nodded. "He knows that. What do you suggest?" 

"Tie the people to you with material means. With jewels and foodstuffs and means of livelihood. Encourage the elves of border towns to visit with the city. Educate those you can, so they better understand the truth of your father's arguments." 

"I already did so with Linedhel, earlier." 

Mithwen's mouth curled down, making obvious her opinion of the elf. "You should know he has been a voice for independence. He thinks trade will give us power, will help his cause. The fool." 

Maedhros shifted in his chair. "I will make sure to give you acclaim for the trade deals, Lady Mithwen. He can be credited with sending the children of this town to the city school. That way, when they return and speak against him, the people will not belive his words." 

"I thank you, Maedhros," the grey maiden replied. 

By the time Fingon returned they had turned to a less controversial topic, and soon afterwards Maedhros stood to go. "It has been a pleasure speaking to you, Lady Mithwen. It is a pity you stay in a small place such as this. You would be adored in the city." 

Mithwen shrugged, and even that seemed graceful. Maedhros was reminded that just as she refused to leave her town, she had not taken a husband, and wondered of the cause. How would she ever find someone worthy of her if she stayed in this little place? "It has been my privilege to host you." 

And then he and Fingon were out on the street, walking back to the inn which was but a block away. 

Fingon glanced at him, and from the look in his eyes Maedhros realized he was determined to try again. "I would leave you alone - " 

"I wish you would," Maedhros snapped, trying to cut the conversation off before it started. 

Fingon's hurt was turning to anger. "You were the one to invite me along in the first place." 

"No," Maedhros groped for words. "I don't want you to go away, but please, stop bringing this up - I hold you very dear but - " 

"I know, I know," Fingon replied, "you are the heir and you have your duty. Your duty be damned." And he went inside, to where the rest of their group had already gathered. 

"So how did you meet Narwen?" Curufin was saying. 

"I met her last night. She snuck into my room and tried to cut off my hair." 

"She what?" Curufin gaped, but Aredhel waved off his apologies, her hands shaking with laughter. 

"It was quite an experience." 

"Aredhel!" Fingon cried, after a moment of speechlessness. "She attacked you in the middle of the night and you didn't even tell me this morning?" 

Aredhel turned to him and said serenely, "Well, if I had told you, you might have guessed that we had switched places, and that wouldn't have worked out at all." 

"Aredhel!" 

"Don't shout my name so, you sound like father." 

"Father should have yelled at you more often, it seems like." 

Aredhel replied, slowly, easily. "Let's look at this calmly. I'm fine, you're fine, Curufin and Narwen are fine. It all worked out for the best." 

"This time," Fingon growled, still perturbed. 

Meanwhile, near the entrance to the doorway, Celegorm took Curufin aside. "Brother, I did not know of Aredhel's trickery, I promise you - " 

To his surprise, Curufin gave him a slow smile. "If you had, I would thank you, but now I see my gratitude must go to the lady." 

"I - I don't understand." 

"You must keep this a secret for now, my brother, and you and Aredhel shall be the only ones I tell. Narwen and I are to be married - " 

Before he could finish Celegorm had swept him up into a large hug. Curufin struggled to get away from it. "Celegorm!" he hissed. "How is it to be kept secret if you insist on suffocating me?" 

Celegorm pulled away, amused. And how light his heart was that he heard Curufin had taken someone else! He turned to where Amrod and Amras were telling Fingon of their excursion. 

"Not very good," Amras admitted. "Excellent aim, but it takes her forever to get the bow set up." 

Fingon was nodding. "And there were no close calls with any, say, savage beasts, were there? She didn't almost fall off a cliff or run into a really large rock?" 

Amrod assured him that nothing of the sort had happened. Celegorm chimed in to support the twins and added, "I didn't know she was going to do it, Fingon. I would have told you, otherwise." 

"She's got a mind of her own, doesn't she?" Fingon replied, sounding almost resigned. "Well, she's right, though. Nothing happened." 

"Nothing happened," Celegorm agreed, although in truth he wouldn't mind if *something* had happened, and Aredhel needed to be rescued by him, swept into his arms... 

Curufin had gone over to Maedhros and was speaking quietly in to his ear. 

"You know, brother, that it might not be the best of ideas to conduct politics with Fingon accompanying you." 

Maedhros glared. "And what do you know about politics, Curufin?" 

"I know that its not to be discussed around one of father's least favorite nephews." 

"You say that as though father *has* a favorite nephew," Maedhros replied, trying to keep himself outwardly calm. "Everything is fine. I didn't speak of Araman in front of him, or of father's plans. I'm not a fool - so leave me alone." 

Curufin did so, but perhaps only because right then Fingon walked over to them. "Curufin," he said, "my deepest apologies for the trick my sister played on you." 

Curufin's eyes swept over his cousin, cool, calculating. "It is nothing that cannot be soothed by a different day of merriment. Perhaps you would like to come along next time, to see she gets into no more trouble?" 

"Perhaps," Fingon replied, knowing he would much rather spend the time working on Maedhros. And, to be honest, he found the workings of Feanorian politics to be strange and interesting. 

"Oh, come, I know my brother must needs go from house to house exchanging trivial blather but it is all in the name of duty. You are our guest here! You should have more fun. Next time?" 

Fingon might have refused but Maedhros' words outside the inn had stuck with him, and he felt the sudden urge to get back at him. "Next time it is, cousin. Are you sure you'll be alright alone, Maedhros?" 

"I suppose I'll have to be, won't I?" he replied. "I suppose you will," Fingon said. He looked at Maedhros and offered him an obviously fake smile. "But you'll be able to complain about the responsibilities of being an heir when you return, won't you? Won't that be worth it?" 

Curufin actually laughed, a short, sharp bark of it that seemed to suprise even himself. "Why, you know him as well as his brothers do! Come then, let's set our plans with the others." 

They approached the large group, which was discussing Caranthir. "So where is he, then?" Amrod asked. 

Maedhros, his expression blank and his voice carefully controlled, explained their brother's plans without looking once at Fingon. He knew he deserved Fingon's jibe, but that didn't make it any easier to take. 

Apart from the rest, Aredhel had taken a seat by Maglor and was explaining to him the events of the day. 

"And so," Aredhel concluded, "I sent Narwen out to him and by the flush of their cheeks when they returned, I say I met with some success." 

"I take it you have no interest in Curufin, then." 

"No, Maglor." Aredhel shook her head. 

"And what of Celegorm?" Maglor asked. 

"I am afraid that I have led him on, but don't know how to disabuse him of my love for him without witholding my friendship." 

"So to none of my brothers your heart's love is given?" 

"No," Aredhel replied, softly. She had not really admitted this to anyone, except Galadriel, but she felt safe telling Maglor. "My heart lies elsewhere." 

Watching the distant longing on her face, and how it mirrored Celegorm's across the room, Maglor could not help but laugh. 

"Do you find this amusing?" she asked him, her voice low with something like hurt. 

"Yes, and I am glad that I do," said Maglor after a moment. He regarded her with apprehension, as though he could give nothing to her but honesty yet hesitated to wound her. "In the song of the Vala by the dark sea, which I have sometimes heard, there is often the feel of lamentation. I am glad such sadness has not entered out lives. I am glad that the trials of young love are all we have do sadden us." 

She smiled to assure him that she was not offended. "And have you never been in love, that you can laugh at it so?" 

"No," Maglor replied, "or perhaps I have been in love a thousand times but only for a moment." 

"But - but - what can you mean?" 

"I mean that each time I hear an elf singing, I fall so completely in love that it buries any past emotion. I am one with that voice, my ears recieving it like a lover's embrace. To me, when a chest strains on a long note it is as though it was the arching of passion. My fea is my song, and it will mate with any other song of beauty. But when the song ends, when the voice dies down to a quiver, then the singer is nothing to me but the possibility of hearing the music again." He blushed to realize how he had gone on. 

Aredhel was looking at him with surprise, and compassion, and somehow pity. "And are you never moved by anything else but music?" 

"Oh, moved, yes. I am moved by your friendship, Aredhel, and your willingness to listen to me. I am moved by the companionship of my brothers, the fire of my father's spirit, the memory of my mother's nurturing and the knowledge of her love. Greatly am I moved by our grandfather's affections, for always he lets me stand my his chair and sing to him, and never tires of him - for him, more than anyone, do I sing." 

"But passion - desire as I have related to you this night - " 

"For no silent person have I ever felt it. No. But do not pity me, Aredhel, I am content with it. Perhaps I miss something wonderful, but not comprehending it, how can I grieve?" 

"I don't suppose you can," Aredhel murmured. She looked at the gathered elves, realized they had all returned. "And now, my dear cousin, we had better continue our journey." 

Her voice carried across the room, and they stood to go. 

*** 

The Iluvatar-forsaken forest was past, and now he was on the open fields. 

Caranthir rode quickly, wanting to waste no time on the ride. He was determined to gather every moment with his waiting lover, and would be damned to put on a public display like Curufin and Celegorm. Furthermore, he did not dare spend too long with Maedhros and Fingon, watching their unsubtle romance play out before his eyes. Every painful glance of his brother at his cousin reminded Curufin that Feanor expected grandchildren and a large and prosperous house. As time continued and his sons showed no sign of wedding, Feanor grew more obvious in his hints and gestures. And Caranthir felt deeply the need to please him, he who could offer the house no gift of jewel-making, no glorious song, no game from hunting. He could not please his father. 

And yet, he thought, with a need that enveloped him when ever he though of his destination, and the elf who waited for him, he could not stop pleasing himself. 

*** 


	6. Chapter 6

Black, White, Gold Chapter 6 

Amrod and Amras rode ahead of everybody, the lot having fallen to them to push a path through the scraping branches and to spy light breaking through the dense curtain of the forest. They both strained ahead eagerly, like the others hoping to be out of the forest and into the meadows soon. 

They spoke it short words and gestures or at times not at all, and yet they were always conversing. Fully articulated, their exchange might have been thus, 

"How did we get charged with this duty, Amras?" 

"I know not. It seemed to happen very quickly." 

"At least this area will soon be a road, and we'll not have to travel it like this again." 

"When did you hear that?" 

"Just a moment ago. Maedhros leaned over to our cousin and said, 'I cannot blame Linedhel for wanting to be rid of this forest.' Fingon ignored him." 

"Are they quarelling?" 

"They must be - ouch! Iluvatar-forsaken branches. How did we draw this job?" 

"You've already asked me that. Besides, I don't think you should be so pleased at the fate of this forest. It is a hunting ground. Why cut it down for just convenience?" 

"Especially when it won't bother us. Ouch! After now, that is. And we'll have to get out of here before we can ask father to do it anyway." 

"Exactly. Amrod... I wonder what Celegorm thinks." 

"What makes you think he knows?" 

"Curufin knows." 

"Curufin makes it his business to know everything." 

"He does at that. I wish Celegorm paid more attention." 

"Then he wouldn't be Celegorm." 

"True." 

"I wish he had taken Huan with him on this trip. He shouldn't just leave a hound like Huan alone." 

"You're just saying that because you're jealous." 

"Huan's the best hound in all of Aman, and given to Celegorm by a Valar. Aren't you jealous, Amras?" 

"I am." 

"Anyway, it might've impressed Aredhel." 

"I'm beginning to think nothing will impress Aredhel. Except sneaking into her room and trying to kill her." 

"I still cannot believe Narwen did that." 

"It seemed to make a good impression." 

"Well, maybe we should suggest to Celegorm that he should sneak up to Aredhel when she's sleeping and cut off her hair. That should win her over." 

"I don't understand that girl. She's very fun, though." 

"You're just saying that because she kissed you." 

"Wouldn't you, Amrod? That is, if she did?" 

"Ouch! Dark-blasted branches. How come you don't seem to be getting scratched at all?" 

"We're twins. We should be getting exactly the same amounts of scratches." 

"Somehow I don't think that logic applies here." 

"...will this forest ever end?" 

"We should find the path that Caranthir made. The branches would be permanently bent back." 

"He *was* going pretty fast." 

"Pretty fast? Amras, he tore out of there with the speed of a racing Maia." 

"I wonder what he was going to see." 

"Not what, whom." 

"You think he has a maiden?" 

"Maybe." 

"Why wouldn't he tell father? Father's so anxious to see one of us wed." 

"Maybe she's a simple town girl." 

"That wouldn't do for Maedhros, or maybe Maglor, but for the rest of us? He wouldn't even care if she were Vanyar." 

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm sick of romance - I want to hunt." 

"I want to get out of this forest." 

"I want to you to stop brushing branches into my face." 

"I want you to acknowledge the fact that I am taking by far the brunt of this arboreal assault - " 

"I want you to stop talking... I said, I want you to stop talking!" 

"I was just thinking." 

"You know that's the same thing, with us." 

"I can't help what I think." 

"You can help thrusting branches at me." 

"My, testy aren't we?" 

"How did we get stuck with this job?" 

"For the last time - look! I think I see a light!" 

This last was said, loudly and clearly, and for the benefit of all his brothers. The twins shared a smile of relief, and behind them calls of thanks went up. Even Celegorm seemed glad to be out of the forest and nearing home. 

From the edge of the forest it was only a short way to the village where Caranthir was staying. He met them on the green, standing absolutely still as they approached. 

The village people gathered near, and one brought forth Caranthir's mount. Caranthir took it almost unwillingly. Then he asked, his face flushing as though he were embrassed by it, "Perhaps you could go ahead, and I could catch up with you later?" 

Maedhros looked confused. "Why, brother?" 

Caranthir threw a glance back at the crowd, but in the small sea of faces Maedhros could recognize no one. When he turned around, Caranthir's expression was resigned. "No, never mind. Let us go." 

"Caranthir, if you - " 

"No, I said. It was a silly thought. We should push on so we can reach home as soon as possible. Why, we could even be there tonight." 

Maedhros smiled wryly. "We had a bit of a time getting through the forest. We'll have to rest." 

"Here?" Caranthir couldn't help but ask. 

"I thought we could cut the distance between us and home by a third, before we needed it. Then we wouldn't have to stop again, before we're home." 

Caranthir accepted this with only a shadow of protest in his eyes. 

Later, when they were making camp after another hard ride and the others had gone to do various tasks, Maedhros decided the time had come for he and Fingon to speak again. The silence between them had been painful, and was gathering odd looks from the rest. Perhaps - perhaps they could speak of music, or hunting. Was that too much to ask? 

"Hello, Fingon," Maedhros said, his voice level. He stood behind where Fingon was fixing the fire, leaning wood against wood to make it stand. "Can I help you with that?" 

Fingon stiffened, then relaxed. "It's an easy enough job for one," he replied. "Unlike certain other things." 

Maedhros ignored the barb and asked nicely, "How do you think your sister is getting along?" 

"Oh, very well, very well. She's been lucky enough not to get herself involved with any of your father's sons." 

"Good," Maedhros said, pretending not to understand the underlying meaning. "You did say you were going to protect her." 

"Oh, she's done very well by herself, despite my words. Well, I don't believe any of us kept our promises," When Maedhros still did not take insult, Fingon continued. "After all, you did call me a gift, and look at the way you've treated me." 

This was too direct to do anything else besides reply to. "And how have I treated you, then? Not like a gift, I suppose." 

"Like an obligation. Like something you've had all your life and grown tired of. Like someone you can put off until tomorow, and the next day, and the next day, regardless of my feelings because you think I don't deserve to know yours." 

"It isn't a matter of deserve, Fingon," Maedhros said. 

"I don't know what the matter is. I want to convince you, Russandol, I want to show you, but how can I, if you give me nothing to reason with?" His voice was pleading but also edged with anger. 

"Why must you bring this up?" Maedhros asked in despair. 

"You sought me out," Fingon replied, now fully angry. "You had to know what my topic of choice would be." 

Maedhros was surprised to feel tears of frustration come to his eyes. He tried to turn away, to hide them, but Fingon saw them and moved in front of him. Steadying Maedhros, trapping him with one hand, he raised the other to his cheek where the tears threatened to spill. Maedhros pulled away again, but the loss of contact only made him feel worse. 

"Maedhros," Fingon said, "I don't want to make you unhappy. You don't have to tell me what is wrong, but please, tell me what I can do to make it right. What do you want?" 

'It's so hard like this,' Maedhros thought. "I want to go back to how things used to be." 

"No." Fingon shook his head. 

"I thought you said you would - " Maedhros began. 

"It's not that I won't, it's that I can't. Here, take my hand." Hesitantly, Maedhros took the proffered fingers, and warmth flooded through him. He could feel every line in Fingon's palm, and beneath that every layer of bone and skin. He could feel the blood in Fingon's veins, the quickness of his pulse, and he knew his own heart must be beating in time. Fingon's fingers shifted and instinctively Maedhros moved to meet them, and to wrap his own in the hollows in between. "Don't you - " Fingon began and Maedhros tore away. 

"Please, Fingon, you can't - " 

"What, I can't touch you?" His voice was too loud in the forest, and his tone was reckless. "I can't shake your hand? Even my married sister-in-law would be allowed that. I can't be near you? I can't gaze upon you, I can't think of you - tell me what it is I cannot do." 

Maedhros had put one hand to his ear as though to stop the barage of words. "You can't do this to me! I must have an heir, and you can never give me that." 

"Why must you have an heir? I don't understand. Why should even Finwe need an heir? Why can't it just be enough, for you to make me feel the way I feel?" 

"Please, Fingon! Please, I don't want to hear this!" 

"Tell me if that is what you really want. Say it, and I will never bring this up again." 

"I want - for you - for you to - " Maedhros faltered, and Fingon's eyes shone. 

"I knew you couldn't do it, it's already so hard but you know this is right, to be together - " 

"Fingon!" Maedhros roared, and Fingon stopped speaking, and, it seemed, breathing. Maedhros' desperation gave him courage. "I want you to leave me alone!" he cried at last. 

But the sudden pain in Fingon's eyes was such that Maedhros added, brokenly, "Don't you know that if I start loving you, I will never stop?" 'Even when I followed my father away from here, and you remained, I would not stop. Even if I never saw you again, I would not stop. How can you do this to me?' 

"Maedhros - " 

"No, don't. Don't say it. Don't say anything." And Maedhros turned and hurried away. As he burst through the bushes on his way to the horses, he bumped into Aredhel. She could clearly see that he was upset. She looked to where he had come from, and saw her brother, then looked away, preturbed. 

Fingon was worried that she might have seen or heard something, but they didn't have a chance to speak alone until they were riding the next day. He came up beside her as they went, he gazing at her with concern as she tilted her head back to watch the sky. Her black hair spilled down the saddle and nearly reached her knees. After a moment she moved from what had to be an uncomfortable position, and looked around, her eyes ever going to the horizon. 

"Do you see it?" Aredhel asked suddenly. 

"What?" Fingon asked, turning around in his saddle. 

"No, up. Around us. You don't even notice it at first, it happens so gradually." 

"What does?" 

"The light. It's fading, and now even when Laurelin waxes it's not half so bright as at home when Telperion does. I didn't realize it at first, but it's dark." 

Fingon aimed a tense smile at his sister. "For Valinor, mayhap. I doubt if you asked Glorfindel that he'd agree with you. Or grandfather." 

"Grandfather... How long will it be now, Fingon?" Aredhel asked. 

"What, my hardy sister grown weary?" Fingon teased. 

"Weary with impatience, perhaps." 

"I thought you longed for the ride, and the adventure." 

Aredhel glared at him, although she answered him as though the statement was her due. "Aye, but now I long to see our family." 

"You'd be suprised how little our family holds your longing as consequence," Fingon replied, his tone a mystery of hurt and frustration. 

"I don't understand you." 

"Have you thought of why we must make this journey, Aredhel?" Fingon asked, his voice quiet and his eyes probing. 

Aredhel was taken aback. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, why must we travel so far from Tirion to see our family? Why does Feanor set up a second home? Why did they come to Formenos, when their seat is rightly in Tirion? Why did - " here Fingon's voice broke slightly, "why did grandfather agree?" 

"I don't know," Aredhel replied, "but I wish he hadn't. I've missed him and grandmother awfully." 

Fingon seemed disapointed at the acceptance in her voice. He shrugged and spurred his horse, but Aredhel as always would not let the matter rest, and came along beside him. 

"I don't know what is wrong, Fingon, I don't know what you want me to say, but I hope you do not take it out on the others. I know you are quarelling with Maedhros. You should not take this frustration out on him." 

Fingon wanted to laugh. 'Maedhros is causing it, my dear unsubtle sister. If only you knew.' 

*** 

There was no wind. Galadriel sat on the edge of a bench, in a garden, facing the sea. She liked the wind to blow through her hair, rustling it and making it slightly salty. As it was, her golden hair hung limp against her back. 

There was no trick of light on the waves tonight, just the softly rolling sea. She felt a little like she was fufilling her Teleri heritage, but in her heart she knew that wasn't true. She stared at the ocean as it met the bay because in the dark waters, she saw no visions. She only saw him. 

He was elusive, though. Sometimes she thought she saw his profile as the waves broke suddenly over a scattering of rocks. Other times she saw him in the reflection of the stars. Either way, visions did not come to her unbidden, of hot, falling blood and gentle, ceaseless sorrow. 

She told no one of her visions. Therefore they did not know they shouldn't coax her from the sea. It was Aegnor who came to her this time, sitting down beside her and taking her hand, saying, "Galadriel, may we have your company?" 

Images threatened to come before her eyes so Galadriel pulled her hand away and stared desperately at the sea. 

Aegnor sat in hurt silence for a moment, then spoke again. "Galadriel, we all worry for you. Even if you don't want to come with me, will you go with someone else?" 

"I'd like to stay here." 

"Galadriel..." 

The concern in his voice was quiet but there, and might even have been considered pain by one listening more carefully. As it was, Galadriel felt guilty enough to look up at him, at his face. What she saw there surprised her. 

He was genuinely frightened of her melancholy. He obviously thought that if she stayed too long in the same place, she would fall again into a long sleep, and this time never wake up. 

"I'm sorry," Galadriel said, and looked back at the sea. 

"Let's go for a walk," Aegnor pleaded. "Just a short one." 

"Who is 'us'?" 

"Myself. Orodreth and Angrod. Amarie." He took a sharp, hopefull breath. "You?" 

Galadriel turned to look at him, trying not to see all that was in his eyes. "I suppose they're already waiting?" 

"Yes - we all want you to come. And Amarie said it would be good for you - " 

Perhaps it was a test of will. She could not stay on the bench forever. There would be no easier time to test herself against the visions. 

"I'll come." 

They walked slowly towards where their two brothers and Amarie were waiting. "Have you been feeling better?" Aegnor asked, hesitating. "Are you - are you all right now? Oh, never mind. You'd probably feel better if I gave you some peace." 

Galadriel looked away uncomfortably. She was quite aware of how badly she was taking advantage of her sickness and his affection. She willed herself to make conversation. 

"No, of course not." _Steel on steel, sharper than glass and stronger than an iron rod.*_ "What about you, brother? How have you been?" _Steel on flesh, the redness of scraped knees like a fountain, soaking the other elves. _ "Have you caught any maiden's eye?" _Steel in the belly - _ Galadriel gritted her teeth. "Any lad's?" 

Aegnor blushed deeply, throwing his sister a playful scowl. "You don't make it any easier when you jest like that." 

"Jest like what?" Orodreth asked as the others joined them. "How are you feeling, Galadriel?" 

"Well, thank you," Galadriel said. She flinched away from the image of a dead river that was forming in her mind's eye. Seeking someone she knew would be a comfort, she watched Amarie. 

"You look healthier," the girl said. "Although I must admit I have little practice with sickness such as yours - I am used to only the fevers after wounding, and then there are few enough. Still, I have learned to look for certain things, and they are gone now, the paleness, the limp hair, the eyes that shine to brightly. Your hroa is well, Galadriel." 

Galadriel nodded and they walked on. 

In a clearing, they came upon a group of elves making music together. In the center of the group was Ecthelion, sitting above the others with his silver hair falling around him and hiding his small flute. Standing a little ways off was Legolas, peering down that he might see Ecthelion's eyes and so follow the melody better. 

Penlod and Galdor sat side by side playing their strings, Penlod providing harmony while Galdor made trills and flights above. Every so often Penlod would halt in his own music and let Galdor continued unencumbered, and therefore his hands were free, and so he would place one on Galdor's shoulder. It was a gesture of mixed admiration and affection, but his fingers would become tangled in the golden strands and emerald gems braided therein, and he would have to hurry his harmony some when he rejoined. 

"Oh, please, let us join them," Galadriel requested, finding the music soothing beyond hope. The melodies her ears tried to follow made supressing the visions an unconcious thing. The others, surprised and gratified to hear her speak, quickly agreed. 

Drawn to the music were other groups who had gone out seeking a peaceful walk and found a greater pleasure. Duilin and Eglamoth came with their own instruments, as well as several others Galadriel did not recognize. From over a hill came came a welcome group of four, Turgon and his wife Elenwe and his friends Finrod and Glorfindel. Finrod saw Amarie and flushed slightly, suddenly finding an urgent need to engange Turgon in conversation - Glorfindel's eyes lit up with delight and he went to get his harp. 

Galadriel had been sitting alongside the musicians on one of the benches, listening to her brothers rib eachother good-naturedly. She had spotted a nest of flowered vines and was braiding them together in an intricate pattern, her hand moving with the rhythm of the song. She found the order of it kept her mind from wanderng and the images from returning. She was starting to realize it was a matter of control. 

Elenwe left her husband's side for some female company, coming to sit next to her cousin by marriage. Elenwe had come to know her husband's full cousins much better than their half cousins - she had not even met some of the sons of Feanor. Nevertheless she and Galadriel were not close, sharing only a mutual friend. Naturally, it was the first thing Elenwe mentioned. 

"How think you Aredhel is faring in the north?" 

Startled, Galadriel dropped the vines. She leaned down to gather them up again, giving herself time to think. Images of Aredhel came to her as unwelcome and persistent as the visions of sadness. "I think she is doing well," Galadriel replied at last, trying to keep her voice even. She thought of the raven hair she loved to run her fingers through, and the braids she liked to make in it, and realized her vine carpet was unraveling in her hands. "I think she is having fun." 

Elenwe looked at her oddly. "Of course she is, I only meant whether you thought they'd reached Formenos by now. Why would she be unhappy?" 

'Because she is parted from me.' The jealous thought sprang to Galadriel's mind and almost to her lips. "You know the troubles of our house. I would not like to see her caught up in our fathers' problems." 

Elenwe seemed to think such an idea laughable. "Why, you know Aredhel. She's quick enough, I would think. Sly. No one could catch *her*." 

Elenwe had not been wandering around for the past weeks with forebodings heavy in her heart. Elenwe had never seen the contempt in Feanor's eyes when he looked upon his extented family, or the trust and hope in Aredhel's, her feelings manifest to those who loved her, however devious she tried to be. Elenwe had never tasted Aredhel's kisses, full of passion and impermanence, and had to suffer their end. 

Some of this was in Galadriel's face as she replied to Elenwe, but the younger elf assumed that Galadriel was simply acting superior. "Do not be so hasty to judge what you do not know - and that includes the family difficulties. Surely Turgon of all people has explained to you how dangerous Feanor has become?" 

Elenwe seemed torn between her husband and her closest friend. "But Aredhel said - that he was misunderstood - " 

"Aredhel is a little girl," Galadriel snapped, and then was suprised at herself. Why was she getting so upset with Aredhel when she wasn't even here? More gently, she added, "She has met our uncle Feanor the same number of times as you - that is, none. Not since she was a little girl, barely old enough to remember and certainly not old enough to judge. No, Aredhel can manage the sons but I am not so sure about the father." And then, impolite as it was, she turned away. She didn't want to talk about this. She wanted to immerse herself in the music. 

When Galadriel dismissed her so abruptly, Elenwe looked for someone else to sit by. Her eyes fell upon Amarie, who in turn was watching Finrod. Elenwe missed her friend Aredhel, but she felt drawn to this wisp of a girl who could not be any more different. She sat down beside her, pointedly following her gaze. "He will not dance with anyone else," she said, conversationally. 

"He will not?" Amarie sounded crushed. "That is - that is too bad." 

"Oh, you silly child," Elenwe said, an unusual amount of tenderness in her voice, "I meant he will not dance with anyone else but you." 

Amarie colored at once. "I would not - I would not be so sure." 

Elenwe marvelled at the girl's meekness. She had seen the Vanya nursing Galadriel, and when she spoke then she was commanding. Not even Galadriel's father could refuse her orders. Why, when first she arrived she had even ordered Finrod out of the room. "Why would you not be sure?" Elenwe said, determining that she would help this contradictory girl. "You have spent many a night walking alone together, surely your words then turn to topics of love?" 

"I had hoped - " Amarie began, then blushed and shook her head. "No, he always wants to ask me something, but when the questions come out they are 'How did you learn the arts of healing?' and 'How will Galadriel be?'. All the time we spend together, he says nothing to me of love. We talk of hunting and forging, caves and metals, of song and stories, but never of love." 

Elenwe did not find it so surprising that love had turned her usually bold cousin-in-law bashful. After all, it had done much the same to Turgon. "Well, perhaps he says nothing by his mouth, but there is a proclamation of love in his eyes. You should go to him." 

"I could not - " Amarie began. 

"Ah, but you will," Elenwe said. She took Amarie's hand, intent on delivering it to Finrod. She had plenty of excuse to go to the helplessly shy elf, for he stood with her husband throwing nervous glances their way. As they neared he seemed to grow at once flushed with attraction and pale with nervousness and fear. 

"Turgon, my love, will you dance with me?" she said. 

"Of course," he replied at once. He saw the mischief in her eyes and immediately grasped her plan. "A new dance or an old?" 

"An old one, I think, to contrast with such new love," she raised a hand to Glorfindel, who changed the patterns of his hands on the harp immediately and the song she, before, had asked him to play rang out around the crowd. 

"'Tis fitting," Turgon replied as the music swelled, and in his eyes she read, 'It is fitting that my best friend and his love should share our song.' 

"You know it, do you not, Finrod?" Elenwe asked, her smile wide but quite sincere. "I would hate to have us dance alone." 

"He knows it," Turgon assured her, before Finrod could protest. "I made him mad by singing it on our hunts, and he says I followed the steps in my sleep." 

"Will you do us the favor, Finrod? Would you take a sweet maiden," Elenwe looked at Amarie and said smoothly, " - this one will do nicely - and join us in this dance?" 

Finrod said, "Amarie?" just as she offered softly, "I will - if you want me - " 

"It's decided then, no?" Turgon asked, aware that the others had long since retreated to watch, and Glorfindel had been forced to slow the pace as he waited, amused. 

Handing Amarie over to Finrod, Elenwe wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and smiled up at him, treasuring the feel of him against her. And then he began to lead her, and she was spinning and twirling and being lifted up into the air. 

Turgon had chosen this as the first dance of their wedding feast with no small irony - the male lead the female through every move. Turgon had joked that his wife had initiated the first kiss, made the first declaration of love, and had proposed marriage - in this, at least, he would take the first step. 

So immersed in eachother were Turgon and Elenwe that they could not see what others saw - the way that Finrod and Amarie danced together, their movements so fluid that they looked like a single being. Their hair mingled and their eyes stayed locked together, even when the steps forbid it, so that Amarie's head was twisted or Finrod's movements changed, and still it was beautiful and perfect. And when he spun her he stood tall above her, and gazed down at her face and saw the love that was there. 

When the music stopped shy Finrod stooped and kissed her, for all the gathered elves to see. 

There was an appreciative silence as it deepened, and Turgon and Elenwe glanced at eachother, amused. When at last Finrod and Amarie broke apart the whole clearing burst into applause. Seeing his friend's blush, Turgon waved to Glorfindel, who started up another's song. 

The couples retired to the benches where their family sat. Galadriel looked up at Amarie and gave her a warm smile but whispered in Finrod's ear, "Eru knows it's time you finally learned your way around women." 

Finrod shot back, "You certainly weren't much help to me!" But he glowed with happiness, and the exchange had been filled with tenderness. 

The group sat back to enjoy the music and the dancing, unaware of the twain who had stopped their wanderings upon a nearby hill to watch the joy-filled gathering below. "Shall we go to them?" Earwen asked her husband. 

"Nay, let the young folk revel together for a while. No doubt our eldest will bring his love to us when he is ready," Finarfin replied. 

Earwen shook her head, disturbed more by Finarfin's state of mind than by any tidings she knew of that could cause it. "Are you sure you do not want to dance your troubles away?" 

Finarfin smiled and drew her close, saying, "You alone would be enough to make me forget the ending of the world." 

Though they had long since ceased feeling the passions of the hroa, they each took great comfort in their shared embrace. Earwen pressed her cheek against his chest. "Then we shall stay here, love, and nowhere else. You could no longr convince me to go. It was, after all, such sweet words that lured me away from the sea." 

"You? Parted from the sea?" Finarfin chuckled quietly. "You merely brought it with you. And this is how I know it... there is the taste of saltwater in your every kiss." 

Earwen kissed him then, chastely, and added, "I still miss it, you know." 

"Well," said Finarfin slowly, turning again to watch their children at the gathering, "perhaps when all of our children are married, we could go to stay with your father for awhile?" 

Inexplicably, Earwen tensed at that. "Think you that Galadriel will ever marry?" 

Finarfin did not ask why she had singled out their daughter, only answered the question as best he knew how. "Yes - why, yes. I have not seen among the men her match, yet I sense that some day she will." 

"I am glad, then," Earwen said, although from the way her voice was lost at once beneath the echoes of the festival music, Finarfin could tell she was not. "I am - glad." 

"Why, Earwen," Finarfin said, "how comes this turnabout? I thought it was I who needed cheering?" 

"Perhaps we both do," Earwen replied. "Perhaps we can learn something from our children." 

At the gathering below, their children danced and sang with great cheer. At last Turgon was so exhausted that he had to beg Elenwe to stop. They sat again by Galadriel, who despite the smile she kept with some effort on her face, had not moved from her spot. Relaxing beside her, Turgon was in position to see a familiar young elf join them in the dance. 

Idril copied the steps of the dancers with wondrous ease, and her childish clumsiness disapeared in the magic of the music. Foward and backward and left and right her little feet went, arched, delicate and sweet. Then she began to vary the steps the others made, though she was never out of time, and where one elf took a leap, her small strides made a leap and a dip and a turn. Others began to fall back and watch, admiring. 

Oblivious to the others Idril raised her eyes to the sky and danced faster, completing whole turns between beats. Few of the musicians could keep up with her, and each fell away until only Glorfindel accompanied her with his harp. He seemed to know Idril's steps before she took them, pausing as she suddenly lept and starting again as she reached the ground, weaving melodies as he plucked his strings to the timing of her intricate footsteps. They were a marvel together, but all eyes were upon Idril. 

She did not sense their intense gazes upon her, and that was well, for shy as she was she would have faltered. She turned and swayed and reached her arms above her, bringing them down to her sides in the image of a budding, golden flower. She paused, still, her hair hanging down over her face as though she were weeping or gathering dew. 

Then she spun and spun and spun, her face uplifted, as if she were dancing for the stars; Telperion waxed at that moment and she was bathed in silver. 

"Cerebrindal!" Turgon cried, overcome with love, and she halted at the unfamiliar name. "Idril Cerebrindal," he said again, and swept her up into his arms. The others sighed to see her dancing stopped, but Turgon could hear her little heart beat fast against his chest, and she took great struggling breaths. "Easy now, dear one," he soothed, "your silver feet must have their rest as well." 

The others began to dance again, but those who knew the girl best gathered around her to give her praise. To Turgon's suprise, however, she did not respond fearlessly as he thought this new creature Cerebrindal would, but glanced around in confusion, asking her mother, "Why do they all come to speak to me?" Quiet Idril once more, she buried herself in her mother's chest. 

Galadriel had watched this all with gladness, but still she bore a peculiar longing in her heart. Seeing even little Idril partake in this happiness which she did not share, she determined at once to be rid of her melancholy. Standing up so quickly that she herself was suprised, she walked over to Glorfindel and tapped him on the shoulder. He lay down his harp and another took up her flute. 

"Yes, my lady?" he asked. 

"Will you dance with me, my lord of the Golden Flowers? There is no one here I would partner with in love, but with you I could dance in friendship. And 'tis a pity such a dancer as you are has yet to dance tonight." 

The elder elf looked at once regretful and chagrined at that regret, and his answering smile was, if not filled with joy, then at least with simple pleasure. "I would be honored." 

Again the floor cleared for the two skilled dancers, who wove with their lithe bodies shapes in fading light, their hands meeting gently or parting with artful reluctance. 

All around the circle that watched them, friends and sisters and brothers, saw the beginning of a romance, but few could see the loneliness in Galadriel even as she was danced in Glorfindel's arms. And none could see that Galadriel was but a substitute for another golden haired young lady, a girl quite far from maidenhood who had stirred a lover's passion in Glorfindel's heart. 

*** 

They arrived in Formenos tired but excited. Aredhel peered every which way, taking in all she could see. She noticed first the buildings, which were different than in Tirion, newer and grander, and closed off by jeweled gates. Closer towards the center of the city, towards the ceremonial palace, towers rose that caught and glittered with faded sunlight. 

Merchants were here and there about the streets, their trade lively. They growled good naturedly at the crowds that gathered around musicians, who played not for any gift but admiration, and would only take a piece of fruit if hungry. Every so often, though, one would lower his flute from his lips or shout over her harp and say, "A concert tonight, in the meadows! Please come!" and would name a price. 

The swell of people as they became noticed was more dignified than in the village towns. People walked instead of ran out of their houses, and instead of crying and shouting merely bowed their heads, then raised them again with proud and curious eyes. 

Aredhel recieved most of the stares. Even among a class of people that knew Feanor's sons by sight, Fingon blended in better than she did. Before Aredhel had been happy with the attention, but he sensed she felt more uncomfortable with the scrutiny of the knowledgeable and the wealthy. He rode to her side, and heard a tiny gasp of surprise as people wondered who he might be. 'I wonder if they know who I am, or if they think I'm Turgon,' Fingon thought. 'Could they even think I'm father?' 

Also coming to Aredhel's aid were Amrod and Amras, who after all this time still caught the attention of crowds. They brought their horses next to Aredhel and opposite Fingon, and began to move in effortless unison. Around them, people began to murmur, "The twins!" 

After a moment, Aredhel regained her composure, and they went onwards towards the center of the city. At last they reached the palace gates, more magnificent than any other smaller set, and a hooded form walked out to open them, and let the travelers in. Behind the gates to each side were entrances to the gardens. 

The hooded figure pulled the gate shut behind them and slid off his hood, and it was Finwe. The seven sons of Feanor clambered off their horses with great haste, rushing into his arms, but Fingon and Aredhel went slowly, barely familiar with the man. 

"Ah, so many grandsons," Finwe sighed, and then he saw Aredhel. His eyes lit up. "And a grand-daughter!" He went to her first and lifted her off her horse, spinning her around and depositing a kiss upon her cheek. Fingon was surprised to see his sister, so brash and so proud among others, melt into his arms. She looked up at him shyly. 

"Grandfather..." she said. 

Fingon found that his throat was tight and his hands were clenched. He made himself be calm. Finwe kept his hand on her shoulder as he greeted Feanor's sons, eldest to youngest, and only removed it to hug Ambarussa both at once. Then he faced Fingon. 

"Hello, grandfather," Fingon said, trying to keep the edge of hurt out of his voice. "It has been a long time, has it not?" 'Long even in the count of the Valar,' Fingon thought, 'and you said you would leave Tirion for but a vacation.' 

Finwe's eyes lost their sparkle as though they had been immersed in unexpectedly deep waters, and were now too far down for light to reach. "Too long, Fingon. Spending my days with these seven magnificent grandsons keeps me not from missing my others." 

"Perhaps you would visit us then?" Fingon said politely, but that was a veil over insult, and Maedhros gaped at him, while the others struggled to comprehend this sudden turn. 

Aredhel was quicker, however. "Fingon, enough!" she hissed, elbowing his arm. 

"You do want him to visit us, don't you? No? Will you consent to have him at your eventual marriage? For he has missed your dancing at the festivals and your triumphs at the races. Would you deny him that, Ar Feiniel?" The bitterness in his tone suprised even him, and he realized he had gone much too far. But the frustration of the recent weeks and his long held feeling of betrayal made him continue. He turned to his grandfather. "That is right, some call her Ar Feiniel now, the White Lady of the Noldor. Perhaps you had better use the title rather than her true name - at least until you get to know her better." 

"I am sorry that I have angered you," Finwe began with such compassion that it nearly made Aredhel's heart break. 

"Do not use me in this!" she interjected, seething at her brother. "Better yet, do not do this at all." She seized his arm with one hand and covered the spot with her other, and beneath her imporing gaze he felt her nails sharp in his skin. 

That at last brought him back to reason, and he felt his rage subside. Instead hurt welled inside of him, a familiar feeling, and he turned to face Finwe. "I am sorry for my rudeness. It is inexcusable, such a breach of manner's in the king's home. I am only glad his eldest son was not here to be offended." 

"There should be no need to tell you that you are forgiven," Finwe said, "but alas I fear there is. You are forgiven, Fingon, and I hope you will forgive me as well." 

Fingon did not reply to that. Maglor asked, somewhat desperately, "Where is father?" 

"He's at his forge, of course," Finwe said, obviously relieved at the change of topic, but this provoked a sigh from Fingon. 

"You should at least know, grandfather," he said calmly, "that if you care to visit us in Tirion you would of course be greeted properly." And with that he turned and stalked away. He paused at the gate, somewhat uncertainly, then went into the gardens. Maedhros threw an apologetic look at the rest of them and walked quickly after his friend. 

"I don't understand what is wrong with him," Aredhel tried to say, but Finwe only smiled sadly. 

"It is the echo of a choice I made a long time ago, and soon enough you will feel it as he does," Finwe told her. Then he took her arm in his and began leading her to the house, the six youngest sons of Feanor falling in behind. 

*** 


	7. Chapter 7

Fingon was not given to doing impulsive things. His sudden bursts of love or temper might seem like the waves of Osse, wild upon the sea, but were rather signs of deep, abiding currents. His emotions were slow to form, yet strong. 

Fingon was not given to doing impuslive things. And yet - 

He had just stalked off in the midst of a formal greeting, the first he had had with his grandfather in many years. What kind of impresion would that make on Aredhel? How often would he be reminded of it when she wanted to act out to get her own way? More importantly, what kind of elf would Finwe think his second son had raised? What would Feanor say about him, how would he compare Fingon to his more reasonable and steadfast sons? How had he managed to turn things sour so quickly? 

Fingon laughed bitterly. He wasn't given to doing impulsive things? Who was he trying to decieve? 

In another abrupt burst of passion, this time colored by shame, he thrust his hand into the bushes beside him and crunched the leaves beneath his fingers. He jerked his hand out and threw the twigs and petals to the ground. 

He wished he had something firmer to grip, some gem that would not be broken. His father had often given him such stones when his temper was amiss, and he had used up his energy and anger clutching them. Now he reached back in to grab another handful of leaves, pitiful though they were as a balm to his emotions. 

"I'm not quite sure what caused that incident," said a voice quietly from behind him, "but I'm pretty sure it wasn't these poor flowers." 

Fingon paused a moment, his body still coiled in guilty anger, then relaxed. "No, 'twas my own stubborness. I am a fool elf, it's widely known. Fingolfin's eldest is prone to mistakes not worthy of a king's grandson. Ah, that I could take back so many of the things I've done." 

"Do not say such things of yourself," Maedhros said. Hesitating, he placed a hand on Fingon's shoulder. 

Fingon, vexed as he was, seemed not to even notice the touch. "I had meant to confront him on it another time. When we had gotten to know eachother again. To ask him to come back to the city, if only for a little while. What must he think of me now?" 

"Nothing shameful," Maedhros assured him. "No one could." 

"Ah, but don't you see?" Fingon insisted, coming back to himself. He glanced at Maedhros' hand where it warmed him, then looked up to meet his eyes. "This is why my father sent me with you - one of the reasons, at least." 

"One of the reasons?" Maedhros echoed, before he could stop himself. 

"Yes. To watch out for my sister, as well. And - and." Fingon bit of what he had been about to say. His gaze at once hardened and became pleading. _How can I trust you, if you won't trust me?_

At least now they both knew that the secrets were out there. They were even, then, on that score. Maedhros paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Perhaps you might take up your other duty, before it escapes from you as well?" 

"What mean you?" 

"Your sister has gone with the others into the house." 

Fingon held back a look of dismay. Honesty was one thing. Letting Maedhros know exactly how little he liked and trusted his father was another. He turned at once to the exit, hiding his face. 

Maedhros saw his reaction, anyway. He added it to the ever-growing list of reasons why he must _not_ act upon his desires. Fingon's friendship might be hard enough to hold onto, let alone his love. 

He followed him out of the garden. 

* 

Aredhel entered the greatest House of the Noldor on Finwe's arm, feeling for once the grace of her sex and station, yet even as she basked in the glow of the love of her family and the reflected light of a thousand perfect gems set into the walls, she peered eagerly ahead. Greater than this masterful home must be its head and creator. 

She percieved from the way Finwe followed her gaze from creation to creation, his eyes full of fatherly pride, that even he was a guest here. She longed to meet the host. 

And yet she feared it. She wished she had Galadriel by her side - Galadriel, who had once met the Spirit of Fire before, who had even denied him a lock of her hair. Galadriel would know what to say, what to do. 

The further they walked, though, it seemed that Aredhel would not have to do or say anything. Feanor waited not around any corner, nor in any of the recieving rooms they passed, and Aredhel at last realized that it was not that Feanor had wanted to give his father and king the honors of recieving them. It was that he was truly too busy at his forge to bother to meet his niece, or greet his newphew, or even with a warm embrace to welcome home his sons. 

She repressed a sigh of disappointment, and reasoned to herself that at least now she had time to collect herself and would not be gawking like an elfling at her uncle's treasures under his eye. 

Soon Finwe engaged her in easy conversation, and she began to tell him of her accomplishments, of the birds and horses and elves at home, of her interests in riding and hunting and gem-making. Finwe offered to take her out to the stables later, and to help her at the forges. Aredhel gladly accepted. 

As they talked, the others waited, with varying degrees of tranquility. Amrod and Amras were by far the most carefree, though among the least patient. Each wanted to take Feanor aside and describe in full detail the wonders of their trip south. Finwe would have made a tolerable substitute, but he was otherwise engaged. 

"I get to tell him about the Mansions of Aule," Amrod was insisting. 

"If you wish," Amras replied coyly, "but then I get to tell him about Aule himself." 

Amrod opened his mouth, tried to find something to contradict, failed, and shut it again. 

Meanwhile Caranthir sat near a window, outwardly complacent. His thoughts, however, raced. How best to tell his father of his love? Nay, it were better not to at all, not yet. If he remained quiet, his news would not be missed in the excitement. This decision saddened Caranthir, though once made he held firmly to it. He found his father made a better confidante than any of his brothers, but not even Feanor would take this news well. 

Celegorm and Curufin were both watching Aredhel intently, for different reasons. Celegorm was admiring the way she looked, animated in conversation. Her lips pursed and relaxed, her eyes widened in sudden laughter, the shadow of the treelight that fell fading into the room landed on her pale cheeks and made her even more alluring. 

Curufin could admit she was beautiful, but freed from the pretences of a lover he also realized that neither was she in love. Feanor would know that neither he nor any of his brothers had captured her heart - and he would not be pleased. 

Maglor perched on the age of a chair, humming a tune absentmindedly. He looked forward to Feanor's arrival with neither haste nor worry. When the time was right, he would take out his harp or his lyre and sing for his father a song he had learned on the trip. Then Feanor would smile and kiss his forehead and tell him it had been a journey worth taking. Perhaps his father might also inquire whether Maglor had seen any pretty maidens. But then Maglor would say no, and that would be the end of it. Maglor's fingers traced a tune along the thin wood bars of his chair. His trust in his father was complete. 

Footsteps sounded near the doorway, and they all looked up, but it was merely Fingon and Maedhros returning to the group. Maedhros found himself a spot by Maglor, but Fingon walked over to his grandfather, bowed his head, and began to apologize. 

"It is not necessary, my dear grandson," Finwe said. "I would have none of this awkwardness between us." 

Fingon looked as though he wished to continue, but obeying the elder elf's request, he fell silent. He sat himself on Aredhel's other side. 

They waited for Feanor. 

* 

The task that had been set for Glorfindel was not one that the goldern-haired elf was eager to perform. Thus, he was glad to spot a familiar face as he made his way to the storehouses of Fingolfin and Finarfin. He readily hailed Amarie of the Vanyar. 

Finrod was so often at Turgon's house that Glorfindel knew him as well as he knew Turgon's sister and brother. He thought that Finrod and Amarie seemed well suited to eachother. They both had great worth, hidden by modesty, that needed encouragement to show through. If Turgon's affection brought a sparkle to Finrod's eye, then no doubt Amarie's love would fully light his face. 

And how would Finrod's tender regard for Amarie affect the maiden? Glorfindel was curious to find out. Increasing his pace, he came up beside her. 

"'Tis not so often that that you see two golden-haired elves at once on the streets of Tirion." 

"True," agreed Amarie, greeting him pleasantly, "yet I have better reason for it than you. I am a visiting Vanya, no more. Yet you are a Noldo. From whence comes your lustrious hair?" 

Glorfindel shrugged. "In truth, I do not know. When I was born the races were not as far seperate as they are now, and Vanya and Noldo often wed with eachother, and sometimes even Elda and Avari." 

"You come from so far back as that?" Amarie asked, her eyes wide and her voice startled and high. 

Glorfindel was not surprised that she did not know - the Vanyar prefered not to teach history and politics, but rather the ways of nature and nature's music. Yet her reaction took him by surprise - it was altogether too childish than he had thought her capable of. Had romance taken away the image of years that the stress of Galadriel's sickness had put upon her? Glorfindel was curious. 

"How old are you, Amarie, if I might ask?" Glorfindel said. His deference to her higher station put Amarie more at ease than a moment ago she had been. 

"I number in my years just thirty, not nearly so great a gathering as yours," Amarie smiled, a merry blush of a thing, having forgotten her shyness. "I don't suppose you might be prevailed upon to wait a while, 'til I catch up?" 

Glorfindel smiled back. As they continued on, he thought to himself that he must ask Ecthelion what he thought of young Amarie. It was true that the Lord of the Fountain's judgement in women was at times suspect: he had picked Neredhel of the Teleri for Turgon - a flightly, silver-haired girl - when Elenwe was by far the obvious choice. Still, Glorfindel enjoyed discussing such things with him. They were by far more pleasant than the other topics they had recently talked upon. 

Glorfindel was heading towards the storehouses and was glad when Amarie found her destination before then. As she turned to bid him a sweet goodbye, Glorfindel reflected that it was well she knew nothing of it. Even the most highly born must not always bear burdens upon their shoulders. 

As he reached the storehouses Glorfindel saw a shock of gold hair not unlike his own. Pushing back his surprise and panic, he rushed to where Galadriel stood gazing at the door and asked, "My lady? 

Galadriel turned to him. "What do you come here for, Lord Glorfindel?" 

"I might ask you the same thing myself," Glorfindel replied. It was an unusual thing to say, but Galadriel did not notice - she had turned back to the storehouse door and was staring at its handle, absorbed. "My lady? This place is far from our dwellings. What draws you here?" 

"I sense a thing of import. Indeed, many things, kept hidden behind these walls." 

"But you know not what?" Glorfindel did not know whether he was disappointed or relieved. 

"No." Galadriel's eyes were suddenly piercing. "Do you?" 

"Some supplies of your father's, or your uncle's, I would believe." Glorfindel tried not to sound too evasive. 

"'Tis not in your nature to lie, Glorfindel," she replied evenly. "But do not worry. I won't press you on it. I shall find out the truth myself." 

And with that she spun and left. 

* 

It was at the waning of the trees that Galadriel returned, when she was assured that Glorfindel had gone and that none would question her on her way. She strode across the streets of Tirion with unwavering purpose, drawn to the storehouses. She breathed heavily, but not from hurring - rather from the emotions that swirled within her. She reached the stairs before the storehouses and began to climb. 

_ Many miles away, Feanor too made his way up steps of polished stone. His hands were still warm from the fires of his forges, and he pressed them against the walls of the stairwell. He closed his eyes for a moment. _

He was so tired. It seemed as though even the walls could not hold him up. 

As she ascended the stairs, Galadriel took the time to wonder how she had come to this point. After releasing her mind from the sorrow that had plagued her, she found herself irresistably drawn, to people, to places, to things. It called to her now, almost as strong as the call of the Silmarils to the North. But these were here. This urge she could satisfy. 

_ Upon reaching the end of the staircase, Feanor turned toward his rooms. He needed to immerse himself in water, and then in the sheets of his bed. He heaved a long sigh. _

Then, echoing down the hallway came the voices of his youngest sons. Feanor stood still for a moment, savoring the sound and recovering from the surprise. Then he ran towards the origin of their music-like laughter , slowing only as he neared the door, trying to keep his pride as he reflected that fatigue was nothing compared to loneliness. 

Galadriel pulled out the key she had stolen from her father, and slid it into the door. She hesitated, then with resolve turned the key and swung the door open. 

Before her were stacks and stacks of glistening metal swords. 

_ When he reached the room at last, seven elves leaped up, overjoyed. He held out his arms, and they embraced him, each forgetting their worries. He kissed their cheeks fondly. _

"My sons," he said. "Welcome home." 

* 


	8. Author's Note

I've decided to make this note page significantly shorter, although I keep my disclaimer:  
  
Firstly, you can feel free to skip this. It is not anything vital. I merely loathe long author's notes tacked on to chapters - I feel they distract from the story. The only things I will include in the chapters are the titles at the top, and necessary translations at the bottom. Furthermore, I would not ask you to wade through the somewhat lengthy justifications below before reading my work - why don't you read it and then come back if you feel it's worth it? This is here for my own ease, and for those who have an in depth knowledge of what I am talking about.  
  
For those of you who don't have an in depth knowledge of the Silmarillion, hopefully the story ahead stands on it's own merits besides recognizability. I urge you to give it (and if nothing else, the Silmarillion itself) a shot. I will be periodically updating this whenever I feel the need to explain some new twist in the story. Go ahead. Skip it if you'd rather not know my thought process (I don't blame you, it's a scary thing).  
  
The only general things you should know is that this is based on the Silmarillion, utilizing little of the text or characters from Lord of the Rings (with the notable exception of Galadriel). Also, it has elements of m/m and f/f along with het pairings, but while the relationships between characters are essential, the sexual underpinnings are not. They are not the focus. In any case, that was your obligatory slash warning... I provide none for character death. Although, guys, really? They all live happily ever after. That's why there are so many pretty elves prancing around in the LotR trilogy. Anyway, on to the show! (Whichever show you may choose. I suggest reading the story first.)  
  
***  
  
The first thing I feel I must address is this: In the Silmarillion, (p. 166), it is written that "the Eldar wedded not with kin so near, nor ever before had any desired do". This is in reference to first cousins, exactly the relationship between all of Finwe's grandchildren. So in this one regard, I am bending if not breaking canon. However, I have some excuses, one being that you can love a person deeply and/or sexually without wanting to wed them. The other is that the Silmarillion is somewhat of a history book, and in my opinion one can get away with saying, "And how would a historian know that?" How would a historian know what was in the hearts and minds of every set of cousins? So those are my excuses. I believe I am aided in this by another statement which might be somewhat of a spoiler for those who are reading this before my story, so I will ramble on for a line or so while you won't stumble right into it... blah blah blah elfcakes, there. Now, I believe I am aided in this by the statement on page 64 in the Sil where the narrator says that Aredhel's heart's love was not given to any of the sons of Feanor. This rather implies that it might have been, and was a matter of personal affections and not taboo. Although, I feel obliged to point out, Feanor's children are more removed from Fingolfiin's than Finarfin's, for Fingolfin and Finarfin are only half-brothers of Feanor. In any case, that is my reasoning. I do not believe I go so far out of the bounds of canon as to make it AU.  
  
I've also made some assumptions, which may or may not be correct. While Tolkein specifically said that Aredhel was the youngest of her family in the Silmarillion (p.64), he did not specify for Galadriel, so in my writings I've made Galadriel the oldest after Finrod, and therefore a bit older than Aredhel, but not Fingon or Turgon, because they are the sons of the elder brother who would be more likely to wed first. Other than that, I've taken the sons in the order listed in the Sil.  
  
I am going to try to write this story inserting as few of my own characters as possible. For instance, I cannot find the name or any description of Fingolfin's wife, so I hesitate to include her. However, to exclude her completely will be quite impossible, so although she remains nameless, the characters refer to her as a beautiful and kind but rather passive woman who is just the sort of person who gets left out of tales like these. She is conveniently away during most of the story. I've been informed she just *might* have a name. So you can look forward to maybe a mention of her, but little more.  
  
The geography is mostly my own. Using maps I was able to get a rough layout of the Blessed Realm (The story begins is in the East, Formenos is in the North, and the Trees of Light are in the West). Which lands are forest and which are field, I do not know. I guess it's kind of a mix. I don't know what the travel times would be, so I've made that rather vague.  
  
*** 


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